Front Page News: Second Edition
by highlandgypsy
Summary: When Colonel Lard decides to embed a war correspondent with the 214, the results are not what he – or the Black Sheep – expected. This is a re-write of the original which was published last year. What started as a technical glitch clean-up turned into an overhaul. Hopefully the result is a better developed and more enjoyable story.
1. Chapter 1

Here we go again. I started rewriting Front Page News to clean up some things from a technical standpoint – sentence structure, point of view, tense, etc. Pretty soon I was cleaning up dialogue, (hopefully) tightening up exposition and getting rid of some things that didn't quite work the first time. That led to some new scenes, additional dialogue and a general refreshing. I hope the overhauled product is cleaner, tighter, more detailed, funnier and sexier than the original. The bones of the story are the same, only the appearance has changed. If you read it before, thank you for coming back for more. If this is your first time, thank you for joining me on this very guilty pleasure. Read and review as the spirit moves you.

 **FRONT PAGE NEWS: SECOND EDITION**

 **Chapter 1: First impression  
**

" _. . . after Pearl Harbor, of the 1,600 reporters permitted to wear the armband emblazoned with a "C" that meant war correspondent, 127 were women." - "Gal Reporters: Breaking Barriers in World War II," by Mark Jenkins, for National Geographic News, Dec. 10, 2003_

 **XXX**

 _"A stunning first impression was not the same thing as love at first sight. But surely it was an invitation to consider the matter." - Lois McMaster Bujold, American fiction writer_

 **Espritos Marcos, Allied Rear Command**

"You're doing _what_?"

Major Greg Boyington slapped his palms flat on Colonel Lard's desk and glared at his superior officer in disbelief. Just when he thought the man couldn't possibly be a bigger pain in the ass than he already was, Lard had proven him wrong. Greg hoped his stare would be menacing enough to make the colonel change his mind. This time he had gone too far.

Seated behind his desk, Lard did not seem inclined to change his mind. He smiled with the smug complacency of someone who knows he holds the upper hand.

"Sit down, Major, it's not that bad." He gestured to a chair.

Greg did not sit down. This whole week had been one damned thing after another, none of it good.

It started with his tent leaking above his head in the middle of the night. Again. Since all the other men's tents were leaking, too, he didn't feel he had much room to complain. He'd shoved his bunk out of the way and re-arranged a few buckets and would live with it until he could get it patched. Heaven knew when that would be, since his requisitions for replacement canvas seemed to disappear once they reached Lard's desk. A lot of things he requisitioned seemed to disappear once they reached Lard's desk.

Then there had been the mess with one of his executive officers and that nurse. He'd seen the girl in question and didn't doubt she was worth it but Jim Gutterman needed to learn the meaning of discretion. Just because you could, didn't mean you should. It wasn't just Jim. The concept of restraint was not often practiced among the Black Sheep.

The girl turned out to be the daughter of a Navy admiral and daddy didn't care that his princess had been a willing participant in some after dark activity with a Marine fighter pilot. It wasn't a problem until they got caught somewhere they shouldn't have been, doing something they shouldn't have been, by someone who was not amused. Defusing that situation had taken a lot of fast talking, along with the Scotch that had been earmarked for a black market trade deal. That deal was now cooling on the back burner since the means of making it happen had been used to keep Gutterman from landing in the brig on sexual harassment charges. Daddy had been willing to negotiate his daughter's questionable honor for the sake of good whisky.

Then there was TJ Wiley. TJ was as much trouble in the air as Jim was on the ground. He'd clipped a wing tip on a tree near the airstrip coming back from the day's mission. A tree, for God's sake. The boy avoided getting flamed by the swarm of Zeroes the Black Sheep had encountered that morning and then he hit a tree. His plane was out of commission until it could be repaired and Greg didn't know where _those_ parts were supposed to come from, either. Andy Micklin, the irascible line chief, had read both him and TJ the riot act and it had nearly come to blows.

The summons to see Colonel Lard on Espritos had been the final straw. He was already in a temper when he and Jim flew to the rear area after the morning's mission. Now this.

"You heard me," Lard repeated. "I'm embedding a war correspondent with the 214."

"Why wasn't I consulted about this?" Greg snarled. He'd dealt with Lard enough to know he probably couldn't change the man's mind but he wasn't going down without a fight. "If it effects my squadron, I should have been brought in before the final decision was made."

"Believe it or not, Major, this war is getting along just fine without your opinion," Lard returned. Greg could tell from the tone of his voice that Lard was trying not to gloat. He needed to try harder, Greg thought. "The correspondent will be assigned as part of the unit and live with you while he captures the lives and stories of the pilots for the papers back home. You know the drill."

Yeah, Greg knew the drill all right. Reporters were no stranger to Vella La Cava. They usually left shortly after they arrived. Funny, how that worked.

"You know how I feel about the press corps," he growled. "Nosy civilians. They distract my men and aren't good for anything but getting in the way. They don't belong in a front area for 15 minutes, let alone living there."

Lard leaned back in his chair. It creaked ominously under his weight. He quickly sat upright again. He thought about the Black Sheep's previous encounters with journalists. Most had ended badly. The unit simply did not handle the press well. He didn't see why this time should be any different. Maybe it would finally give him the leverage he needed to get Boyington to tow the line. He'd never met a man with such blatant disregard for regulations. Lard suspected he didn't know the half of what went on at La Cava and he'd decided a long time ago, he didn't want to know. He just wanted it to stop. If he couldn't get the Black Sheep to straighten up, he'd take the unit down. Either way, he won.

"You don't need to worry," Lard said, his tone placating. He really didn't want to piss Boyington off too much, either. The man had a reputation for settling conflicts with his fists and while Lard was pretty sure he wouldn't slug a superior officer, there was a first time for everything. "This guy has done war coverage in Europe for the Associated Press for the last two years. He was covering the war before we were in the war."

Lard shuffled some papers on his desk.

"Ah, here it is. He spent the last year with the RAF on bases throughout England and Scotland. Covered the Blitz in London before that. Knows military protocol, lots of experience with fighter units. He'll do just fine with your boys. Get that slice of life story for folks on the home front and keep 'em buying war bonds." Lard's smile was extremely satisfied.

Get that slice of life story that will get us all court martialed, more likely, Greg thought. He did not need a reporter getting in Black Sheep business for a single story, let alone having one assigned to the unit for any duration. He was pacing the room now, irritation etched in every line of his body.

"As much as it pains me to say it, the 214 is the hottest thing in the South Pacific right now." Lard's face grew hard and his tone lost its joviality. "Folks at home want pictures, they want to know what the boys over here are doing. So you will welcome K.C. Cameron to the 214 and you will give him access to whatever he needs to do his job. I do not want to hear another word about it. He'll arrive on Thursday's supply transport. You're dismissed."

Greg threw a half-assed salute and stormed out. In the outer office, Jim was wrapped up in Lard's secretary, a curvy brunette who found the Black Sheep wildly romantic.

"For the love of God, Jim, don't you ever stop?" Greg didn't slow as he strode out the door.

"Later, darlin'," Jim said and bolted after his CO.

"Come back when you can stay longer," Margaret called, watching them go. Mmm. The men of the 214 were worth every bit of trouble they caused her boss.

 **XXX**

Lard watched through his office window as the two pilots crossed the compound and climbed into their Corsairs. He poured himself a celebratory glass of Scotch. His ulcer never felt better than when he got the upper hand on that regulation ignoring Marine and his hand-picked collection of screwballs. He sipped his drink contentedly.

Getting K.C. Cameron assigned to the 214 was a stroke of genius, Lard thought. Granted, he'd never met the man but his bylines and photo credits were all over the front page of every major newspaper on a regular basis. He was considered one of the top correspondents in Europe. It was pure luck the man had been willing to leave one theatre for another. Maybe the unit would finally come up to snuff on regs if they were under constant scrutiny by the press. Yes. This was the best idea he'd had in years. He chuckled. This was going to drive Boyington batshit crazy.

 **XXX**

 _As Jim and I flew back to La Cava, I knew Lard was sitting in his office having a good laugh at my expense. It had been like that from the start between him and me. He hated it that I ignored regulations and got results. I hated the starch in his trousers and his war in triplicate. Lard knew how I felt about the press corps and no doubt he thought he'd really pulled one over on me. He was going to have another thought coming before this was over. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **Naval Station Pearl Harbor, Hawaii**

Thirty-six-hundred miles away, Kate "K.C." Cameron paused on the steps of the base press corps office to consider what had just transpired behind the door. She'd been re-assigned to a front area Marine Corps fighter base in the Solomons. Now _that_ was a part of the war she'd never heard of.

It had been part of the plan from the start and she knew it. This just made it official. The posting to Pearl from Edinburgh, Scotland, had never been meant to last, which was probably a good thing. The cushy assignment here had been enjoyable but she secretly admitted she was getting bored. She'd spent more time sitting on the beach than she had working. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The palm trees waved picturesquely in the breeze. The Naval base shone with such crisp efficiency you could almost forget there was a war going on. The two weeks here had been a nice gig if you didn't mind living in a starched white wonderland. The place was just a little too uptight for her liking.

Her mind fast-forwarded to her next assignment as she walked down the wooden steps of the press office, low heels clicking briskly. A jeep with keys dangling in the ignition was parked nearby. She looked around and seeing no one, climbed in. Really, people should be more careful. She revved the engine and took off for the guest quarters. Time to load up her gear and be on the tarmac at 1100 to ship out to the real assignment that brought her to the South Pacific.

Since Dec. 7 of '41, there'd been no lack of press at Pearl. The real need for coverage was deeper in the theatre, where the campaign against the Japanese was red hot.

Damnit. She was going to have to get back on an airplane again.

 **XXX**

 _I found Vella La Cava on a map and it was on the backside of nowhere. Quite frankly, I didn't care. It was about as far from Mildenhall or the West Riding of Yorkshire as I could get and that was fine with me. The only things I'd left behind there were some awfully good Scotch and a romance that had turned out to be nothing more than a lesson in how to get your heart broken by trusting a man. I'd miss the Scotch. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"K.C. Cameron's coming here?" Bobby Boyle sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. "To be stationed with us?" He high-fived TJ, who looked just as dazzled. The rest of the squadron was buzzing as they gathered in the Sheep Pen.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know who this guy is?" Greg said. Cameron wasn't even here yet and he already had the boys stirred up. The Black Sheep were hot right now, Lard had gotten that much right, and Greg didn't want anything messing with it. His band of flying misfits had 18 confirmed kills in their last 11 missions with no pilots lost and minimal damage to the birds. Not counting TJ's tree. They were flying better as a unit than they ever had before. The last thing he wanted right now was some unknown civilian element running through the middle of it, asking too many questions and throwing everything off kilter.

"He's only one of the hottest combat correspondents to hit the rags," Boyle said. "Right up there with Ernie Pyle. Wait. Be right back." He bolted from the building, letting the screen door slap behind him. He was back minutes later, panting, and tossed a copy of The London Times onto the table. It was four months out of date.

"Got this from a guy on a supply transport a few weeks ago," Bobby said. "It's full of Cameron's stuff."

The front page photo showed a Supermarine Spitfire careening toward a grass landing strip amidst billowing plumes of smoke, ground crew running to meet it with extinguishers. Inside page photos showed British pilots vaulting into the cockpits of their planes and surveying the rubble of shattered buildings. There were shots of them in briefings, playing cards, working with mechanics and being treated by medics.

Greg studied the photos. He had to admit, the man had a gift for capturing the urgency of the action. Those pictures hadn't been taken by a bystander on the sidelines.

Great. Not only had Lard saddled the 214 with a journalist, he'd found one who didn't have the good sense to stay out of the way. He splashed Scotch into a glass and sipped it, a plan forming in his mind.

"All right you meatheads, here's the deal. Lard can make this guy come out here but he can't make him stay. We're going to give Cameron a good, old-fashioned Black Sheep welcome and then all bets are off. The faster we get him off this rock, the better. Do I make myself clear?"

The boys nodded. It wouldn't be the first time they'd sent a reporter packing.

 **XXX**

As the C-47 made its final approach to the Vella La Cava airstrip, Kate tucked a few errant curls back into her tidy chignon. At least she hoped it was still tidy. It had been when she left Espritos Marcos but given how long she'd been on this bloody airplane, she suspected _tidy_ might no longer be applicable.

She shifted uncomfortably on the narrow seat, smoothing her skirt as the plane began its descent. The transport wasn't like flying first class but she didn't really care, just as long as she got off it in one piece. Flying was not her cup of tea. The irony of this assignment did not escape her.

Further down the bench, wedged next to supply crates, four Navy ensigns were nursing hangovers. They'd spent the entire flight from Espritos holding their heads and groaning. They were so miserable, they hadn't even acknowledged her.

Kate pulled a compact out of her bag and retouched her lipstick - Scarlet Majestic - and took a mental inventory of her person, from hat to pumps. She wanted to look as nice as possible when she met the CO of this unit. Professional. Competent. Business-like. First impressions were important. The face reflected in the compact's mirror showed high cheekbones and hazel gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. Her complexion glowed. Two weeks of sunshine at Pearl Harbor had been a blissful change from the fog and rain of her last assignment.

She doubted she'd have much use for Scarlet Majestic, hat or pumps in the coming days. She'd never been assigned to a front area before and was a little uncertain of what to expect. The bases she covered in the United Kingdom had all been fairly domesticated, right down to local pubs for nightlife, but the press corps liaison had made it clear she'd be living rough if she took this assignment. That was part of the reason she'd accepted it. She wanted a change.

Kate smoothed her lips together and snapped the compact shut. She wasn't nervous. All right, maybe she was. She was nervous about getting out of this flying tin can alive but she wasn't nervous about the work she'd come here to do.

She'd gotten over being nervous about pretty much everything the first night she was in the Blitz, but she'd never done anything like what she was headed into now. Covering pilots was one thing. Living with them was going to be entirely something else.

Her British editor had warned her about the squadron's reputation and tried to talk her out of moving halfway around the globe. Apparently, the Black Sheep of VMF 214 weren't exactly officers and gentlemen. So what else was new? Fighter pilots' reputations generally preceded them, no matter what part of the war you were in. She should know. Maybe she'd pay a little bit closer attention to that this time.

"Come on, Ian, I've been on half a dozen different RAF bases in the last year and before that I was in London when Hitler was having his little party. How much worse can it be on an island in the South Pacific?" She'd drained her glass of single malt whisky and set it down with conviction. "If that's where they need a photographer, that's where I'm going."

"But Katie, you'll be _living_ with them," Ian had protested. "On the base. It won't be off-base housing this time. This Colonel Lard wants the correspondent embedded with the unit 24/7. You're a woman."

"Thanks for noticing," she'd said drily. "I think I can handle it. I've kind of made a career out of covering flyboys."

Kate used her brief time at Pearl to research the Black Sheep. The squadron had formed less than a year ago and hadn't gotten much press. What brief coverage they'd received wasn't complimentary.

" _Support for the recently re-formed VMF 214 may prove to be one of General Thomas Moore's biggest blunders of the war. Sources are already starting to question if Moore's decision to back Major Greg Boyington's scheme will cast him in a negative light the next time he's considered for promotion._

" _While the Black Sheep squadron has proven its mettle in the skies, on the ground, the men of the 214 are little more than a collection of bare-knuckle fighters sporting a list of charges ranging from drunk and disorderly to punching superior officers._

" _This group of pilots is just as likely to knock each other out in a bar brawl as they are to knock enemy fighters from the sky. The fact they continue to perform at such a high level in combat is testament to the leadership of their commanding officer, who is most often found in whatever drinking establishment is nearest, when he's not in the brig."_

And she had volunteered to go live with them.

It was possible she hadn't thought this through with total clarity but it was too late to back out now. Surely the Black Sheep had _some_ redeeming qualities beyond an ability to drink and throw punches. Major Boyington must be an exceptional commanding officer if he could keep this band of renegades together in the air. The squadron had a remarkable kill record.

The Navy officer who insisted on buying Kate a drink the night before on Espritos had expressed his doubts when she told him where she was going.

"Are you really sure you want to do that, ma'am? That's no place for a lady." She wasn't sure if he was talking about the island itself or its inhabitants.

Looking out the plane's window, she wondered for the umpteenth time what she'd gotten herself into. The base below her was nothing like the smooth grass airfields of Catterick and Lakenheath.

The soft green fells of England had been replaced by jungle backing a rough collection of tents, shacks and equipment scattered along a muddy central track set back from the beach. She could see the sleek blue aircraft parked on the flight line as the transport dropped to the dirt landing strip. They were Corsairs, she recalled, not the Supermarine Spitfires and Hawker Hurricanes she was used to seeing in the fight against Hitler.

She breathed a silent sigh of relief when the plane's wheels touched the ground. Her confidence rose, now that she was no longer concerned with imminent death by airplane. Change was good, she thought firmly, and God knew she needed it. A drink wouldn't come amiss, either.

 **XXX**

As the transport lumbered down out of the late day sun, the Black Sheep gathered to welcome Lard's journalist. Although the idea of hosting a famous war correspondent on the base sounded exciting on the surface, the men shared Greg's feeling that journalists were generally more trouble than they were worth. The uncertainty of an unknown quantity had them all a little edgy. At least there was the promise of a rousing welcome party to boost morale and the boys made sure to invite the nurses from the Navy hospital on the other end of the island.

Greg leaned back in the driver's seat of a jeep parked near the airstrip and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He and the men watched corpsmen unload canned goods, barrels of motor oil, large wooden crates of ammo and other miscellany.

Four Naval ensigns staggered out of the C-47's door, clutching their heads and squinting in the sunlight. Several Black Sheep made rude comments.

The men fidgeted. Where was this Cameron fellow?

A young woman wearing a slim-fitting skirt, low pumps and a crisp white blouse paused on the top step. A stylish hat sat atop attractively unruly sun-streaked curls. She lifted aviator-style sunglasses from her eyes as she surveyed the sprawl of trees, mud, tents, planes and men that constituted the 214. Her makeup, like her clothing, was impeccable, her face reflecting cool composure, mouth curved in the hint of a smile.

Greg knew she was trouble the second she stepped out of the plane. Even in her conservative skirt and blouse, she was a knockout. Nothing that looked like that could walk into the middle of the Black Sheep without causing problems.

Jim let out a low whistle and resettled his cowboy hat.

"Will you look at those legs," he said, his voice reverent.

"Damn," Don French echoed. "A guy could get tangled up in those and never get away."

"If I was tangled up in those legs, I sure as hell wouldn't be trying to get away," Jim said.

Greg felt the collective energy of the Black Sheep rising as they watched the girl descend the steps. She couldn't be a nurse. She wasn't wearing a uniform. She didn't look like USO or Red Cross, either. No one showed up on La Cava by accident. He climbed out of the Jeep and went to find out.

 **XXX**

Kate stepped out of the plane and paused on the top step. A group of men were lounging against a couple of jeeps at the edge of the strip. Her eyes rested on them briefly as she swept the area. If they were deliberately trying to be out of uniform, they were making a fine job of it. Was this the unit come to welcome her or a collection of mechanics taking a break?

She slung her bag with her precious camera and lenses over her shoulder and picked her way down the stairs. As she did, one of the men got out of a jeep and headed toward her, the others falling in behind him. She hadn't talked to the CO here personally before arriving and had no idea how receptive the unit was to her moving in with them.

Ian assured her that her contact on Espritos, Colonel Lard, was delighted she had volunteered for the assignment. Yeah. But he was on Epritos, not La Cava, and Kate had been around the military long enough to know the left hand didn't always know what the right hand was doing. In any event, she hadn't spoken to Colonel Lard, either. He had not been available during her brief layover on Espritos. She was arriving at this assignment straight out of the proverbial blue.

Without warning, a white cannon ball shot out of nowhere and bolted straight toward her, barking furiously as stubby legs churned through the mud.

Meatball, Greg's white bull terrier, loved women. He loved everything about them - their scent, their voices, their touch. He adored Greg and he was buddies with all of the Black Sheep, but that was a guy thing. Women were special. He loved it when the nurses came to the Sheep Pen for a party, even though most of them ignored him. Like the rest of the squadron, he never missed the chance to meet a new girl.

Kate turned in time to see the dog barreling toward her, mud spattering in his wake as he careened straight through the puddles.

"Meatball! No! Come here!" someone yelled. The dog ignored the command and picked up speed.

Kate held her ground. She put out a hand and in a low, clear voice said, "Do _not_ jump on me, Dog."

Meatball screeched to a stop and planted his butt in the dirt. He sat, tongue lolling idiotically out one side of his mouth and tail thumping enthusiastically.

"Good boy." Kate smiled. She liked dogs and hadn't expected to find one here. She knelt to pet him.

That was her undoing. Delighted that this new girl would touch him, Meatball leaped up and planted a paw on each shoulder. Caught off balance, Kate tipped backward on her bum in the dirt.

She said something distinctly un-ladylike and threw up her hands to push the dog away. He was sitting on her lap, blissfully licking her neck. She laughed in spite of it all. She really did like dogs. Kate was trying to get her feet under her when the dog vanished and a hand appeared in her line of sight. She clasped it and scrambled to her feet as she was pulled upright.

"Please forgive my dog," a male voice said. "He has manners but they're all bad."

Kate brushed hair out of her face and looked into a pair of eyes so intensely blue she caught her breath. Their owner was trying, unsuccessfully, to look concerned. After one glance at her muddy countenance, he abandoned the attempt and broke into a smile, complete with dimples that made his ruggedly handsome face even more attractive.

He wasn't as tall as some of the other men but his bearing had authority written all over it. In a T-shirt and fatigues, he was as informally dressed as the rest of the group. The T-shirt was pulled snugly across a well-muscled upper body and the breeze pushed dark hair over his forehead. Those blue eyes wandered slowly up and down her figure with no attempt to disguise his interest.

Oh, like that, is it, Kate thought. She drew herself up. The last year spent with pilots left her impervious to male scrutiny. It would take more than that to make her uncomfortable.

She guessed him to be in his mid-30s, although that roguish grin made him seem younger. The other men fanned out in a semi-circle to either side and Kate felt eyes on her like a physical touch. Definitely pilots, not mechanics. Typical fighter squadron, she thought. She could practically smell the testosterone.

"Your dog is extremely friendly," she said, brushing at her skirt. Oh, she'd made a first impression all right. Nothing said professional competence like going ass over teakettle in the mud two minutes after she deplaned. There were paw prints on her blouse and she knew without looking her stockings were ruined, too.

"My dog has extremely good taste." His voice held a note of amusement but not apology. "I'm Major Greg Boyington, welcome to VMF 214." Another pause. "And you are . . .?" His voice trailed off.

Kate's eyes flew open in surprise. _This_ was Major Boyington? She was prepared for arrogance. She was prepared for drunkenness or the inevitable "Why aren't you at home where a girl belongs?" attitude. She was not prepared for those eyes and that rakish grin.

She shook herself mentally. She had bigger problems than that. He didn't know who she was. Clearly, there'd been a hiccup in the chain of communication. No one had told him. Now she had to go through the whole sticky dance to explain.

This wasn't the first time it had happened. She never used her full name on bylines or photo credits and she carefully avoided publicity. Scoring good assignments meant walking a tightrope between talent and politics. The RAF coverage had been a stroke of luck that launched her career after the Blitz, but editors still weren't crazy about sending _girls_ into combat areas. High ranking officers were even less inclined to give them the stamp of approval. She wanted to be where the news was and if that meant an identity as the anonymous "K.C. Cameron," that was just fine with her.

She let the heavy camera bag slide to the ground and straightened her shoulders. She held out her hand. Boyington gripped it again, and she felt a little thrill of electricity jolt through her as the rough warmth of his fingers closed around hers.

"Good to meet you, Major. I'm Katherine Christine Cameron, with the Associated Press."

 **XXX**

 _It's pretty easy to tell the girls who are fresh to this theatre by the way they look when they first land here - a little hesitant and overwhelmed. But this girl wasn't having any of it. She walked off that plane like she owned the place, even after Meatball knocked her on her backside. That worried me a little. She had the most spectacular pair of legs I've ever seen and believe me, I've seen a few. Damned shame she wouldn't be staying long. - GB_

 **XXX**

 _I hate flying. I really hate flying. So I'd spent the entire trip from Espritos to La Cava thinking about all the different ways I could die on that airplane. I should have spent it wondering why I'd never seen a photo of Greg Boyington in print. Nobody told me the CO of the unit I was going to be living with for the foreseeable future was one of the most drop dead gorgeous men I'd ever met. As it turned out, no one told me how he felt about the press, either. - KCC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: A Black Sheep welcome**

" _Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists primarily in dealing with men." Joseph Conrad, author_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

The girl's handshake was warm and firm but Greg's smile froze. He let go of her hand.

Associated Press? _This_ was the correspondent? Was this some kind of joke?

"As assigned by Colonel Thomas Lard," she added. "I'm K.C. Cameron. You can call me Kate."

There was a collective intake of breath by the men, then silence. A bird hooted nearby, its cry echoing on the evening air. On the flight line, Micklin yelled at one of the mechanics.

"This is Vella La Cava, isn't it? Or did I get off on the wrong island?" Her voice was edged with humor. She'd lost none of her composure, he noticed, for being knocked on her butt by Meatball and she seemed unconcerned by the muddy state of her clothes.

"Katherine Christine Cameron," Greg repeated slowly. Again, his eyes traveled over her, then to the battered camera bag at her feet. For the first time, he noticed the armband with the bold black letter C emblazoned on it. Damned if she wasn't a correspondent. Damned if she wasn't the exact opposite of what he'd expected. Reporters tended to be paunchy and nervous and armed with an inflated sense of self-importance.

"I was told you were expecting me." Her tone was all business now, professional. Not bad for someone who'd been sitting in the mud with his dog on her lap two minutes ago.

I sure as hell wasn't expecting _you_ , sweetheart, Greg thought.

"We were expecting a Christopher, not a Christine," he said. This raised a whole new set of problems. He originally planned to have the correspondent bunk with Jim and TJ, which might have been enough to drive him off in short order without any extra effort.

That plan had been scrapped two days ago when a pair of low-flying Zeroes blasted across the base, sending personnel swearing and diving for foxholes. The air raid had stitched a line of jagged holes across TJ's half of the tent. The only thing that kept him and Jim from being filled with holes as well was the fact they were at the hospital, having largely non-existent injuries from that morning's mission checked out by skeptical nurses. Replacement canvas for the tent roof had been requisitioned. When or if it would ever get here was anyone's guess. In the interim, TJ moved in with Bobby Boyle and Don, while Jim stayed in the side of the tent that didn't have daylight – or rain - coming through the roof.

It was a moot point now. He couldn't have put her in with them even if their tent was still in one piece. He couldn't toss her in with any of the other boys, either. The 214 didn't stand on ceremony but Greg liked to think the unit had some sense of chivalry. While any of them would enjoy sharing quarters with a girl who looked like that, he just couldn't do it. If he did, and Lard got wind of it, there'd be hell to pay, even though Lard had made it clear the correspondent was supposed to bunk with the unit. He suspected Lard's orders to cooperate and give Cameron whatever he – _she_ – needed did not include making her share living space with male personnel. Not to mention, whoever she was sleeping with – figuratively – wouldn't be worth a crap upstairs as a result. He shook his head. She'd barely gotten off the plane and she was already causing trouble.

What was Lard thinking, sending a woman into his squadron? Maybe Lard hadn't known either. Greg himself hadn't even known who Cameron was until Boyle told him. He didn't spend a lot of time reading the papers. And none of them knew he was a she. Oh hell, Lard must have known. Greg was not in the mood to be charitable when it came to Colonel Lard.

Jim stepped forward. His eyes took a leisurely stroll up and down the girl's figure. She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head, clearly wise to his unsubtle evaluation. Jim extended his hand and Kate took it.

"Captain James Gutterman," he said. "I'm one of the execs of this here outfit." He paused, turning to Greg. "She can still bunk with me, Pappy, I reckon we'll work it out." Turning back to Kate, he added, "I've only got the one cot in my tent but I'll let you choose, top or bottom. The pleasure will be all mine."

Jim was out of line and Greg knew he was doing it on purpose. Jim tended to be out of line more often than not. Greg considered reprimanding his executive officer, then decided to let it go. Hazing was inevitable and if she couldn't take it, she wouldn't be here long. It didn't really matter. If he had anything to say about it, she wasn't going to be here long anyway.

Kate tipped her head back to look up at Jim. She was still gripping his hand. Her face was a study in innocence and for a second, Greg regretted not telling Gutterman to tone it down. He wanted her gone but there was no point in having her embarrassed to tears in front of everyone. She smiled broadly and said, "If you're half as good between the sheets as you think you are, Captain, I'm sure the pleasure will be all mine."

The men howled with laughter. Jim looked surprised and scrambled to recover.

"I could make your time here real enjoyable, darlin'," he drawled.

"Why? Are you leaving?"

Greg smothered a chuckle. She had looks _and_ a backbone. He didn't know if that made things better or worse. It was going to take a while to sort this out.

"French, Boyle, take her gear to the VIP tent," he ordered, doing a fast mental inventory of what was stored there. He wasn't even sure the tent had a bunk. Non-essential gear tended to get traded and in his recollection, no one had ever actually slept in the VIP tent since they'd moved onto the base. The boys used it for storage and occasional nocturnal trysts with the nurses.

He picked Kate's hat up off the ground and handed it to her. Like everything else she was wearing, it was splattered with mud. She didn't seem concerned and he grudgingly thought that was a point in her favor. Most women he knew would have been fretting about their clothes and giving him hell about Meatball.

"Let me buy you a drink to make up for my rude dog," he said. And my rude exec, he thought, but didn't say it.

"I like your rude dog," she replied. "That was the most enthusiastic welcome to a new unit I've ever had."

Meatball was rolling around in the dirt at her feet, unabashedly flopping on his back. She bent and rubbed the dog's belly. Straightening, she looked at her skirt and the paw prints on her blouse. "I'd like to change first, then I'll take you up on that drink."

"These two will show you to your tent. When you're ready, the Sheep Pen is that way, on the left." He jerked his thumb in the general direction. He'd buy her a drink but damned if he was going to escort her there like she was some kind of celebrity. The base wasn't that big. She could find it on her own.

Kate nodded. She stepped onto the running board of the jeep and smoothed her skirt under her hips as she slid into the passenger seat. The gesture wasn't intentional but it had the effect of displaying her slender backside as well as those spectacular legs to their best advantage. French and Anderson lifted her trunks into the back and French climbed in after them. She smiled at Boyle, who looked dumbstruck behind the steering wheel, and the jeep pulled away.

 **XXX**

 _She was easy on the eyes, no complaints there. Young but I didn't have a problem with that. Everyone on this damn rock was younger than me anyway. I was still chuckling about the way she handled Jim. Under the right circumstances she was the kind of girl I'd spend some time getting to know a little better. But she was civilian press, sent by Colonel Lard, and that trumped everything else. Not to mention the havoc she was going to cause just by existing in the middle of the Black Sheep. This unit wasn't known for exercising restraint when it came to women. - GB_

 **XXX**

Greg yanked the T-shirt off and threw it on his bunk. It landed on Meatball's head. He'd noticed the boys had been overcome with a sudden need to improve their appearance before heading to the party and most had rushed off to change into clean uniforms. He didn't believe in doing things for appearance's sake but he thought maybe in this case it was appropriate.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with a female reporter?" he snarled.

Standing in the doorway, Larry Casey, Greg's second executive officer, supposed that was a rhetorical question. He'd stopped by to pick up some paperwork bound for Espritos and wasn't about to start handing out advice on women. Especially that one.

Greg scowled. From the looks on the boys' faces at the airstrip, he knew exactly what they were thinking. The Black Sheep were nothing if not consistent. Yeah. Lard had pulled one over on him this time.

"Damn Lard." Greg kicked off his boots. "Not only does he saddle us with a reporter, he sends a girl who looks like _that_." He yanked his fatigues off and stomped around the tent, found a clean pair of trousers and pulled them on. "As if it wasn't already hard enough to keep you yahoos thinking about what you're supposed to be doing upstairs, now we're going to have _that_ living in the middle of us."

He jerked on a shirt, flipped the collar to straighten it and shoved the tail into his trousers.

"Jim's not going to leave her alone, I can tell that already. We've got to get her out of here before she brings half the squadron up on harassment charges. And this time it won't be Delmonte's imagination."

He referenced an earlier incident in which the battle axe of a lieutenant commander at the hospital filed a complaint against Casey for what had been some very consensual canoodling with his girl, Lieutenant Dee Ryan, a nurse under Delmonte's command.

"Um, Pappy?"

"What?"

"She's one of Dee's best friends from back home. I recognized her from a picture."

Greg froze in the middle of buttoning his cuffs. He snorted.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"No. Sorry. They've been best friends since they were little."

Greg rubbed his forehead in exasperation. He was going to need more than one drink before this evening was over.

"For your sake, I hope Dee won't be offended when we run her off." He liked Casey's girl. She'd helped the squadron out at some critical times in the past. She was a little reckless and didn't hesitate to speak her mind. He thought she was good for Casey, who was the closest thing to a straight arrow the squadron still had. He wondered if Kate Cameron was anything like her.

Casey opened his mouth to say something but Greg had already left. Meatball shook the discarded T-shirt off his head and trotted after his master.

Casey gathered the paperwork off Greg's desk. He remembered the day he first met Dee. Greg's meeting with Kate had been slightly less eventful. There hadn't been any blood involved. But, he thought, the night was still young.

 **XXX**

Dappled sunlight shafted through the VIP tent's doorway. Kate let her camera bag slump to the floor and dropped her hat on top of it. The hat, like everything else she was wearing, was probably a lost cause. South Pacific airstrips seemed to be comprised of equal parts clay and engine oil.

Great first impression, she thought, shaking her head. On her butt. In the mud. Couldn't have made a bigger bollocks of that if she'd tried. The dog was cute, though. And Major Boyington? She wasn't even going there. Those eyes had gone glacial two seconds after the words "Associated Press" left her mouth.

The two boys who carried her things in – Don and Bobby – had been friendly enough but it was clear they thought she was out of her element. That hadn't kept them from making sure she knew about the welcome party and they'd left amidst assurances to see her later.

Kate stood, letting the canvas scented air wrap around her. Outside, she could hear men shouting back and forth. They were a high spirited bunch. She'd been off the plane less than five minutes before the first proposition. If Jim Gutterman thought she'd share a tent with him, let alone anything else, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

She looked around curiously. This was different from England, all right. There, she'd been billeted in a series of tiny flats above pubs or in rooming houses near the bases she covered. The accommodations hadn't been much to write home about but they'd always had solid walls, hot and cold running water and a private loo. She examined the canvas overhead. Can't wait until it rains, she thought, bet I've got running water here, too.

This looked more like a supply tent than guest quarters. It was so packed with tarp-covered crates there was barely room for a canvas bunk shoved against one wall. She sat on it and gave an experimental bounce. It wasn't exactly a feather bed but no doubt it was softer than the floor. A single light bulb hung from a metal fixture attached to the tent's central pole. She'd been in bomb craters in London that had more ambiance.

Well then, beggars couldn't be choosers. She began making a mental list. She'd need a desk for her typewriter and some shelving to store supplies. Writing in here would be fine but converting any part of this space into a darkroom was out of the question. She'd have to take that up with Major Boyington. When Ian had arranged this posting, he assured her the CO here would cooperate to supply anything she needed. Kate had a feeling he might have been a little overly optimistic. The look on the major's face when she introduced herself left no doubt in her mind regarding the degree of cooperation she was likely to get.

Her foot nudged the corner of a wooden crate and she heard a musical tinkle as glass bottles rattled. Curious, she lifted the corner of the tarp. Cases of Scotch whisky from a high-end distillery were stacked three high and four wide. Intrigued, she lifted another tarp. More cases of Spam, tinned cookies, motor oil and hand grenades. Shaking her head, she dropped the tarp. She had no idea what was going on here but she was pretty sure there hadn't been a VIP in this tent for a good long time. She was glad the grenades were on the opposite side from her bed.

Kate unlatched her trunk and pulled out her new working uniform. Dressing stylishly would be overkill in a front area and if you were trying to blend in and be one of the boys, the less you gave them to look at, the better. She was just as comfortable working in trousers as she was in tailored suits and silk stockings, although she thought with a wry smile, if everything she'd heard about these boys was true, it probably wouldn't matter what she wore.

She jerked the front flap of the tent closed. Given that a jeep had just gone careening past two feet beyond her door, discretion seemed to be the better part of valor. Privacy was one of those things that didn't seem like a big deal until you didn't have it.

Stepping out of her pumps, she unzipped the skirt and tossed it onto the bunk. The mud spattered blouse followed. As predicted, the stockings were a lost cause. She pulled on a clean white shirt and tucked it into utilitarian khaki trousers. She started to pull her correspondent's badge onto her sleeve, then decided against it. If her presence offended the major, there was no sense waving a red flag in his face. She had to work with the man, after all.

She rummaged through her trunk until she found a pair of socks and after tying the laces on worn, ankle-high leather boots, she headed for the door, rolling up the shirt's sleeves as she went.

In the tent's sole concession to vanity, someone had hung a small shaving mirror on the center pole and she caught her reflection in passing. Her hair was a complete wreck, spilling out of its attempted confinement in a tumble of curls. She took a few minutes to finger comb it loose and braid it into a plait over one shoulder. She tied the end with a leather lace she'd recycled from a pair of boots in Scotland. There. That would do.

Kate paused, hand over her camera bag, but decided against it. Tonight was social. Tonight she would start getting to know the Black Sheep and find out what stories they had to tell. There would be plenty of time for war in the morning.

 **XXX**

 _I can't say my initial welcome to Vella La Cava was what I expected, mostly because I hadn't had any idea what to expect. The reality of living in a tent with a bunch of rogue pilots on a front area island in the South Pacific was starting to sink in and it was clear some of them were happier to have me here than others. The major had a smile that could make a girl's heart skip a beat but you could have felt the temperature drop when I introduced myself. On the other hand, his dog liked me. - KCC_

 **XXX**

"Kate, welcome!"

"Hey, Katie, glad you found us!"

A cheer went up as Kate let the Sheep Pen's screen door bang behind her and she smiled at the boys' greeting. At least they sounded happy she was there, although their leader's tone had certainly cooled once he found out who she was. She got the distinct feeling someone higher up the chain of command had ordered him to play nice and he was just biding his time until he decided how he wanted to handle her.

It wouldn't be the first time she'd run into a less than receptive attitude from male commanders and she was willing to cut Boyington some slack. She knew the squadron hadn't been on the receiving end of good press in the past and it looked like she was going to pay for it.

Plus, she'd never been embedded with a unit before and was pretty sure the 214 had never had a journalist permanently assigned to them. It was one thing to cover the news. It was another thing entirely to live under the same roof with it. She wondered if the boys felt as awkward about it as she did. On second thought, she doubted that had ever crossed their minds. They were fighter pilots, a species who never felt awkward when it came to women.

She hoped this evening would be a start in getting the boys to open up and talk to her. They were on the same side, after all. Once the commanding officers found out she had a no-nonsense approach to her job, they generally loosened up and welcomed her into their unit, sharing resources so she could do her work. Boyington seemed predisposed to disliking her on sight but time would tell.

She glanced around the building's comfortably shabby interior. A jukebox was thumping, accented by occasional squawks of "Banzai!" and "Sayonara!" from a crow tethered to a perch. A variety of pin-ups were tacked haphazardly to the walls, their scantily clad curves fueling the testosterone-laced atmosphere. A sign near the door warned "No gambling." A poker game with a pile of cash in the center of the table was underway beneath it.

The major was leaning against the bar, watching her with a calculating half-smile on his face. She noticed he'd changed from faded fatigues into khakis. The color seemed to make his eyes an even more impossible shade of blue and she wondered how long, on average, it took that smile to get female personnel out of their clothes.

He was good to his word about buying her a drink, though. He raised a glass in her direction as she wove through the tables.

"What'll it be, Cameron, Scotch or beer?" His voice carried over the general din. She could tell every eye in the room was on her. Probably not the time to ask if they had a nice merlot, she thought.

"Scotch will be fine," she said, wondering what watered-down jungle juice passed for whisky in this tail end of the world. Was the stash of high-end stuff in her tent an extension of the bar stock or, more likely, being used as black market currency?

Boyington poured a liberal splash from a bottle into a tumbler.

"Welcome to the 214." He handed it to her. "Around here, we brush our teeth with Scotch."

"Thank you, Major," she said, accepting the glass.

"Greg." His tone was about two degrees short of open flirting. Damn. When he turned on that smile, it changed everything. Had the pendulum swung back in her favor? She took the glass and returned the smile in kind, slanting her gaze up through her lashes. Two could play this game.

"To the 214. Slainte." She raised her glass and took a sip. During her time in the UK, she'd learned, among other things, to appreciate good whisky. The liquid burned with smooth fire all the way to the pit of her stomach, releasing smoky tendrils that lingered on the back of her throat. She'd taken a larger swallow than she intended and the air was knocked briefly out of her lungs.

"I'd like to know," she said, wheezing slightly, "how you get better Scotch in the South Pacific than they have in Edinburgh?"

The group laughed and someone thumped her helpfully on the back.

"Just one of the many fine amenities we offer here," Bob Anderson said, producing several more bottles from under the bar. Someone tipped more alcohol into her glass. The welcome party had officially started.

Within minutes, a jeep pulled up in front of the building and offloaded a half dozen nurses from the hospital. They streamed into the Sheep Pen in a swirl of uniforms and civilian dresses, perfume and hairspray wafting on the evening air. One of the girls froze halfway across the room.

"Katie? Oh my God, Katie, it's you!"

Kate's head snapped around at the familiar voice.

"Dee? Dee Ryan!" She bolted across the room to wrap her arms around the other woman in a hug.

"What are you doing here?" Dee Ryan was petite in a Navy nurse's uniform, her dark hair waving as she held her friend at arm's length.

"Didn't you get my letter?"

"Obviously not! I thought you were assigned on Pearl!"

"I was but it ended up being temporary. You can't swing a cat in Pearl without hitting a photographer these days. Next thing I know, I'm on a transport, headed out here to the back side of nowhere." Kate glanced around the room, then back to Dee. "The flight out here about killed me. God, I hate flying. Where's this Lieutenant Casey of yours? I can't wait to meet him."

"I'm sure he'll be here in a minute. Sit down! We have got so much catching up to do!" Dee grabbed Kate's hand and pulled her to a table. She looked her friend up and down and said, "I can't believe _you're_ the correspondent."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Kate said drily. Dee's tone indicated there might be more in play than the simple appearance of a reporter.

"Oh sweetie, there are some things you need to – oh!" Before Dee could sit, a tall, tow-headed pilot caught her around the waist. His eyes traveled from one girl to the other. Dee threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. When they broke apart, Kate was watching with a bemused smile.

"Lieutenant Casey, I presume?" she held out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

He shook her hand. "I've heard a lot about you, too. It's nice to meet you in person. Dee never mentioned you were _the_ K.C. Cameron."

"An oversight." Dee brushed it off. "Did you know about this?" she asked him, pointing at Kate.

"Not until she got off the plane," Casey said.

"How did you know who she was?" Dee was puzzled.

"Meatball knocked her on her butt and I remembered the night he did the same thing to you, then I made the connection and recognized her from the picture on your desk." He flashed an apologetic smile at Kate. "Sorry about your muddy welcome. That dog doesn't listen to anyone."

"Ah, Meatball," Kate said. "Beware of dog."

"The dog is basically harmless," Dee corrected, "but I think you better beware of the owner."

"What do you mean?" Her friend's tone was a clear warning regarding Greg but Kate didn't know if it was in reference to her status as a reporter or as a female. Or both. Well, hell. She couldn't do anything about either one so he was just going to have to deal with it.

"Sit." Dee pulled out a chair. "I need to fill you in on a few things."

That turned out to be harder than expected. Alcohol flowed. Music played. Singly and in groups, the squadron members introduced themselves, bought her drinks and asked her to dance. The latter resulted in some glowering looks from the nurses in attendance. Kate was acutely aware that not only was she the new girl, she was the new girl who was going to be living with the Black Sheep. She decided there probably wasn't much that could top that degree of scandal. The girls would figure out soon enough that she was here to do a job and the only involvement she'd have with the boys would be on a professional level.

The boys did not seem at all scandalized at the prospect. They swung her across the dance floor, asking a hundred questions and promising to show her around the base in the morning, take her to the beach in the afternoon and re-hang the moon, should she desire it. She hadn't needed to worry about them opening up to her.

She put names with faces: Don French, whose father was a newspaper publisher of some renown in the States; two Bobbys – Anderson, a lot taller than her and an excellent dancer who quoted Shakespeare, and Boyle, barely taller than her who said he'd followed her work in the London Times; Jerry Bragg, friendly in an affable high school jock sort of way; TJ Wiley, quick with a charming smile and a smooth line, and Larry Casey, Dee's beau and the unit's other executive officer. She'd wasn't likely to forget Jim Gutterman any time soon.

After his initial greeting, she noticed Greg was conspicuously absent from the stream of boys surrounding her. He spent the evening at the bar, deep in conversation with Jim. And watching her. She could feel those eyes on her no matter where she was in the room.

"They're a social bunch, aren't they?" Kate said, dropping back into her chair after being whirled around the dance floor by Don.

"Don't look now but it's about to get even more social," Dee said, nodding her head imperceptibly as Jim approached.

"He looks like tall, dark and trouble," Kate said under her breath. "We met earlier."

"Don't underestimate any of them, they're all trouble," Dee advised. "But yeah, he's one of the worst."

Jim sauntered over, a tumbler of whisky in each hand. He handed one to Kate, which she accepted with a reserved smile. Acknowledging Dee with a tip of his battered cowboy hat, Jim spun a chair around and straddled it. His dark eyes met hers, his good old boy's grin holding unspoken promises.

"So darlin', whattaya say we get out of here and take a ride down to the beach?"

Kate picked up the glass, studied the amber contents.

"If I drink this, am I obligated to go with you?"

"No. Just think of it as encouragement." Jim's smile was inviting.

Damn, Kate thought. What was it with men out here? All they had to do was look at her and her thoughts went tumbling in directions they had no business going.

"Do you always bribe girls with alcohol so they'll go with you?"

Jim chuckled, unoffended.

"Naw. It just takes the edge off a little. After the first time, they're happy to come back for more."

"You sound awfully sure of yourself."

"Ain't had any complaints yet."

Kate returned his smile with one of her own and sipped the whisky. Jim wasn't unattractive but he wasn't her type and he was too damn sure of himself for his own good. Plus, she knew exactly how it would look if she left with him her first night here. She needed to set some ground rules. Work was her first priority. It was her only priority. She was aware of a group of boys at a nearby table listening with open interest.

"Listen, Tex." She leaned forward and bumped up the brim of his hat with a forefinger. "This isn't my first rodeo. You tell me why I should jump on the first bull to come down the chute when I don't even know if he's good for eight seconds."

The table next to them burst into laughter. Jim looked vexed but covered it by lifting his glass in a mock salute, then swallowing the contents in one gulp.

"Shot down in flames. Who knew the lady was an ace?" He resettled his hat and extended his hand. "Will you at least dance with me?"

Kate took his hand and let him lead her into the music.

 **XXX**

 _I watched Jim hitting on her and some unexpected part of me was relieved when she shot him down again. She hadn't slapped him and they headed onto the dance floor afterward so I figured he hadn't offended her too much or maybe she was just playing hard to get. I suppose I could have been a little more social but it was amusing, just watching her interact with the boys. Lard was right. She knew her way around fighter pilots. - GB_

 **XXX**

 _The boys of the 214 were a friendly bunch, which didn't surprise me. Their bar was stocked with excellent Scotch, which did. The nurses didn't seem excited about me living this close to their guys and I got the general impression Greg wasn't excited about me living here at all. I was so glad to be out of the European Theatre, I didn't really care. To be honest, I was just looking forward to starting over someplace where I could focus on my work without any complications. - KCC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Suspicious minds**

" _Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whisky is barely enough." Mark Twain, American author_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"Whattaya think of her?"

Jim dropped down into a chair next to Greg, who pushed the Scotch bottle toward him without looking away from the dance floor.

Kate was dancing with Jerry now, although that might have been overstating it. Bragg was a bit the worse for drink and Kate was doing an admirable job of supporting him in addition to keeping his hands from roaming either north or south of her waist.

"I'm trying not to." Greg hooked an elbow over the back of his chair as he watched the dancers swaying to the music. "What's a girl like that doing out here?" He stopped just short of saying "doing a man's job." If the examples he'd seen of her work were any indication, her skill transcended gender lines. "And how in God's name did Lard get hold of her?"

She'd changed out of the muddy skirt and was wearing trousers now. A shame to hide those legs, Greg thought, although the pants accented the shape of her hips nicely. She wasn't tall but she wasn't short, either, and from what he could see from this angle, she had all the right proportions. She carried herself with a confidence that caught a man's eye almost as quickly as her figure. Not arrogant, just comfortable in her own skin, no matter the circumstance. He suspected she hadn't risen to the top of a male-dominated field by being a door mouse.

"She seems happy enough to be here." Jim wasn't inclined to consider much beyond the girl's curves. "If all reporters looked like that, I'd consider it my patriotic duty to give some interviews. Private, in-depth interviews." He looked at Greg. "What? Don't tell me you haven't thought the same thing. You may be old but I know you ain't dead."

Greg shook his head. Jim had a one-track mind.

"She's here to dig up dirt on us for Lard, that's the only explanation. What else would bring a girl like that out here?" He swirled the whisky in his glass and sipped without taking his eyes off her. "I give her three days, tops, and she'll have her pretty little ass on the first transport out of here." He hoped he could run interference for that long and keep the Black Sheep from committing suicide via newspaper. Again.

"You got something in mind?"

Greg watched as Kate took Jerry's hand off that pretty little ass and re-positioned it at her waist. He grinned in spite of his general dislike of the press. The girl was likable enough on the surface and that was part of the problem. If she looked like Delmonte, he might stand a chance of getting the boys to leave her alone and keep their mouths shut. But those looks and that devil-may-care attitude were going to pull them right into whatever web she was weaving and that had disaster written all over it. He could hear Lard chuckling already.

"I've always got something in mind." Greg pushed his chair back. "I'm going to dance with her. It's a party, after all. How's it going to look if the commanding officer doesn't welcome her personally?"

"How personal do you plan to get?" Jim asked. "I get the feeling she ain't the type that gives anything up easy."

"You think?" Greg chuckled. "Maybe she just didn't want what you offered."

Jim made a dismissive noise.

"She'll come around. They always do."

"All I want from her right now is a little information. Like what's behind her sudden transfer from Scotland to the South Pacific. That didn't happen by accident."

"You got your priorities all wrong, you know that?" Jim shook his head in disbelief. "If she ain't gonna be here long, I reckon you could find better ways to occupy her time. Maybe she'd like your charm better."

"Charm takes time. All I want to know is what she's really doing here."

"Aw, come on. Don't tell me you could look at those legs and not think about –

"You know something, Gutterman?" Greg interrupted him. "It's a wonder a girl hasn't shot you by now."

He stood and edged onto the dance floor, where he tapped an unsteady Jerry on the shoulder.

"I'm cutting in, Bragg. Go sit down before you fall down."

"Sure thing, Pappy," Jerry slurred. "Thank you, Katherine, for a lovely dance." He staggered off.

Greg slipped one hand into Kate's and rested the other at her waist and they swung back into the music. He noticed she relaxed visibly when his hands weren't inclined to stray.

"It would appear Lieutenant Bragg has over-indulged," she said, unoffended.

"It happens."

"That's the second time tonight I've heard your men call you Pappy."

"Yeah. I'm the old man around here." He laughed at the look on her face, then felt himself on the receiving end of a much more subtle visual once-over than the one he'd given her earlier. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"You're not exactly what I would call old," she said when her eyes came back to his.

"I'm 35. Most of the boys here are your age, early 20s, give or take. They never let me forget it."

He saw the tell-tale sparkle in her eye and she bit her lip, grinning. There it was again, that wickedly innocent look, then impulse overcame propriety.

"Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway?"

"You could say that." He didn't take his eyes off hers and his knowing look was rewarded by a slight blush, the color rising softly in her cheeks.

You don't know the half of it, sweetheart, he thought. He was used to making time with girls her age and if anything, it kept him at peak performance. Serving on the edge of a war gave the nurses insatiable appetites after the lights went out. This led to some amusing tales at morning mess when the men recounted their evening activities. He'd seen pilots a dozen years his junior stagger in, looking haggard, after spending the night with their best girl. It always made him chuckle. Boys their age hadn't learned that anything worth doing was worth doing slowly.

"Do you have a girl here tonight?" she asked, almost as if reading his mind. That was an uncomfortable thought. She glanced around the room. "The way some of the nurses are looking at me, I feel like I have a target on my back."

Greg thought the feeling was justified. Any girl who looked like she did would have the Black Sheep at her beck and call in no time. Not to mention, she was going to be living on the base and he had no doubt that was going to cause problems that went beyond her status as the press corps.

"No, I don't have a girl here," he said and spun her lightly away from him, using the move as an excuse to check the fingers of her left hand. They were slender, nails short and neatly buffed. No polish. No rings, either. The absence of rings didn't mean there wasn't someone waiting for her somewhere, although he couldn't imagine any man in his right mind letting a girl with her looks get very far away. From what he'd seen so far, he couldn't imagine her letting a man tell her what to do, either. That would change soon enough but there was no need to rush it tonight.

She was lithe and warm in his arms. He'd never danced with a girl wearing trousers and boots before. He'd never danced with one who could hold her alcohol like she did, either. He'd watched her put away drink after drink with practiced ease and apparent little side effect. She might be hung-over as hell tomorrow but now she was remarkably sober.

"Where did you learn to drink like that? I think you've put a couple of my boys under the table and they're not amateurs."

"I'm Scottish on both sides of my family as far back as you can count. I think it's genetic." Her voice was teasing. "Besides, have you ever been to the West Riding of Yorkshire in January? I had plenty of time to practice."

The dance floor was thinning as men and women paired off and drifted into the night. It was getting easier to hold a conversation.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Besides out-drinking the Marine Corps?"

She gave him another of those half-flirtatious, half-guileless looks.

"What makes you think I'm a nice girl?"

He didn't answer right away. She exuded a slightly reckless joi de vivre that was probably due to the alcohol but it looked good on her. She reminded him of an Indian summer sunrise, he thought, her light brown hair streaked with gold and copper highlights and that rose blush in her cheeks.

"How many times have you been propositioned tonight?" he countered.

Kate blinked, reflecting.

"Um, three that I remember – Lieutenant French offered to walk me back to my tent so I wouldn't get lost, very thoughtful of him. Lieutenant Anderson offered to show me where they keep the extra Scotch, although I think most of it's in my tent, from the looks of things. Lieutenant Wiley asked me to go to the radio shack and help him check messages. No, four, Captain Gutterman asked me to go to the beach with him. _That_ wasn't going to happen."

"I know you're a nice girl because you didn't leave with any of those meatheads."

It was Kate's turn to laugh.

"Like I told the captain, this isn't my first rodeo, Major."

"Greg." He corrected her with a smile. "My men don't address me by rank, I don't expect you to."

"Greg," she said agreeably. "I've spent the last year stationed with fighter pilots and please don't be offended, but you guys all operate the same way."

She smiled as she said it but he caught a flash of pain in her eyes, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, then it was gone so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it. Lard said she'd been assigned to fighter bases in the United Kingdom. He wondered if a particular pilot there had received more thorough coverage than the others. Had the relationship met a rough end or had he gone up in his bird one day and not come back?

The music dropped in tempo. She started to turn away but he kept his hand firmly on her waist and she stayed without protest. She moved easily, at home on the dance floor. Clearly there'd been as much dancing as there had been drinking at her previous assignment. He found slow dancing eminently more enjoyable than the faster numbers. It was easier to talk, now that he didn't have to concentrate on what his feet were doing. Some things, like flying or making love, came so naturally he didn't have to think about what he was doing, he could just live for the moment. Dancing didn't fall into that category but women liked it so he made the effort. Besides, it created a captive audience where they were less likely to be interrupted. He knew if they sat down, the other boys wouldn't leave her alone. He was a little surprised no one had cut in on them yet.

"How'd you end up in this line of work?" If he could get her off balance, maybe he could find out what she was really doing here, who sent her and why. For a few absurd moments, he wondered if she was even a real correspondent or an actress right out of central casting, part of some elaborate scheme contrived by Lard in his ongoing campaign to discredit the Black Sheep.

"I worked part-time in a photography studio in high school and loved it. I went to college and studied journalism but had to drop out after a couple of years. My parents died and after their farm sold and the estate was settled, there wasn't any money left." Her tone was briskly unemotional, a recitation of facts, nothing more. He wondered again if it was scripted, all part of Lard's plan. "My sister Sarah is building bombers for Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach. I moved to California to be closer to her and got a job at the San Francisco Examiner. They hired me and I had a couple of good mentors who helped me get started. I bought my own camera and did some freelance photography.

"Dee – " she nodded toward Dee and Casey, "- was stationed with the Navy in England. I sent her some shots I'd taken at a local horse track and she showed them to a friend and I guess the rest is history. The AP hired me as a correspondent when I said I was willing to work overseas. I traveled a lot at first, all over Europe, then mostly in London. I was there during the Blitz, then moved on to covering the US and RAF units." She shrugged. "Now I'm here."

The music changed back to an up-tempo beat. Kate thanked him for the dance and excused herself to the table where Dee and Casey were sitting. Greg followed her. By all accounts, she was an attractive nuisance but he hoped with the application of a little more alcohol he could get her to open up about Lard's agenda for placing her at the 214. So far, it sounded like she'd ended up here purely by coincidence and he was having trouble buying that. She drank like a fish and he wasn't sure how much more he'd have to pour into her but the night was still young.

 **XXX**

 _A good reporter can get someone to talk by putting them at ease and then guiding the conversation in the direction they want it to go. I do it for a living, so I recognized when someone was doing it to me. Greg was good. I had no doubt he could talk women into or out of anything he wanted. And he wanted something, I just couldn't tell what. So I answered the questions he asked and left the unasked ones alone. That was all he needed to know. For now. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Greg pulled out a chair for her and Kate smiled in thanks. She suspected he considered them back on even ground, now that he'd bought her a drink in apology for Meatball's behavior. He'd played the gentleman but she was under no illusion he'd been overcome with delight by her presence.

She was starting to sit down when one of the Navy ensigns who'd been on the transport with her stepped up to block her way. His buddies at a nearby table were watching with an anticipatory air. They'd clearly recovered from their initial hangovers in time to start new ones. With a glance, the man took in and dismissed both Greg and Casey, leered at Dee, then focused on her.

"Hey, honey!" His speech was just starting to slur. "Wanna take a spin around the floor with a guy who knows how to wear a uniform?"

With that pickup line, Kate wouldn't have wanted to dance with him even if he'd been sober. Besides, she'd grown rather fond of khaki in the last few hours. Her gaze would have frozen a wiser man in place.

"No. Thank you." She turned away.

"Aww, come on sugar," he wheedled, then, turning to Greg, said, "Mind if I take a turn?"

Kate bristled at the assumption.

"She doesn't belong to me." Greg's reply was casual. "She can dance with whoever she likes."

"Hear that, honey?" Come on and let me show you a good time." The Navy uniform was oblivious to anything but his own intent.

"It's your choice, Cameron. Would you like to dance with this gentleman?" Greg's tone was civil but Kate felt the change in his posture, saw the subtle shift in balance and flexing of muscle under the fabric of his shirt. It was a precursor to male violence that she'd grown adept at recognizing. One didn't spend a lot of time around pilots without learning to read body language. She found herself tensing slightly in anticipation of what was likely to happen if this idiot didn't back off.

"No, I don't believe I would." Her voice stayed cool. "But this gentleman doesn't seem to understand."

The white uniform pressed closer, a sneer on his face.

"My friends and I could show you a real good time. Better than anything these Marines could do."

Kate's eyes narrowed. Casey quietly stood up and pushed his chair out of the way. Kate saw Dee shift, tensing. She'd read the signs, too. Around them, Black Sheep were setting down their drinks and stepping in front of their girls.

"I don't waste my time on boys who can't hold their liquor." Kate's tone was ice.

"I think the lady's telling you she's not interested," Greg said. He seemed amused, although Kate didn't know why.

"I think the lady will be interested when I get done with her." The ensign made a clumsy grab at her arm.

She saw it coming. As if they'd choreographed it, she dodged out of the way as Greg threw a solid right that caught the guy in the belly. He dropped like a stone.

His nearest buddy charged to his defense. Kate grabbed the edge of the table and upended it in his path. Beer cans flew as it caught the guy square in the midriff and he went down with a whoof of expelled air.

The other two Navy boys jumped in, fists swinging. Dee lashed out with a foot and tripped the first one just as he swung on Casey. Jim appeared out of nowhere and landed a fast one-two punch that sent both him and the remaining white uniform crashing over a nearby table.

Then it was a free-for-all. Kate froze on the spot as chaos erupted around her. The nurses squealed and ran. Dee bolted for the bar and dove behind it. Furniture cracked and bodies tumbled. Instead of trying to regain order, Kate saw Greg slugging it out with the guy who had tried to grab her. Anderson flew past, khaki raining blows against white, French leaping in to back him up.

Wasn't anyone going to stop this? Where were the MPs? Kate glanced around, waiting for some semblance of law enforcement to appear. It didn't.

She began backing out of the fray and stumbled directly into the embrace of one of the ensigns. He wrapped an arm around her waist and covered her neck with sloppy kisses. She didn't waste time struggling but brought her booted foot down hard on the man's arch. When he grunted in surprise and released her, she spun around, kneed him in the groin and finished with an elbow to the side of his nose. He crumpled in silent surprise, hand still clasping the sleeve of her shirt. She heard cloth rip. For the love of God, she thought, where were the MPs? On the previous bases she'd covered, any infraction would have been quelled before it went this far. These boys seemed to treat it like part of the evening's entertainment.

Across the room, Black Sheep were laying waste with an almost practiced efficiency. Dee stepped out from behind the bar and began working her way toward Kate when one of the Navy men reeled toward her. Dee swung the stout piece of lumber kept behind the bar for such emergencies and caught him, unsuspecting, across the chest. He tottered into Jerry, who finished him off, then collapsed onto the floor himself. Greg was still on his feet. He and TJ were tag-teaming on the initial offender and all three of them disappeared in a melee of flying fists.

"Katie! Look out!" Dee yelled.

Kate spun to see the guy she'd kneed, back on his feet and staggering toward her with rage on his face. She ducked out of the man's grasp, only to catch a flying elbow across her mouth from another white-uniform locked in combat with Anderson. Pain lanced through her jaw as she stumbled and lost her balance. She hit the floor, rolled and came up hard against the wall, half under a table. It seemed like a good place to stay while her head cleared.

"Are you okay?" Dee shouted. She began edging along the wall. Kate realized her friend was wielding a stout two-by-four and looked like she knew how to use it. What kind of insane unit was this?

She started to answer, then, seeing movement, yelled, "Jim! Behind you!"

Jim pivoted and stopped a white uniformed attacker with a punch that sent him straight at Greg who caught him, tossed him upright and hit him again.

And then it was over. Four white Navy uniforms were propelled out of the building and disappeared into the darkness. The door swung drunkenly from one hinge for a moment, then crashed onto the steps.

From her seat on the floor, Kate looked around at the aftermath. Dee was talking to Casey and Bob Anderson, who were both bleeding and grinning. Other men were joking as they righted chairs and tables. The brawl seemed to have had the effect of improving morale, not that it had been lacking to start with, she thought. No one seemed terribly concerned about the door, which Don and TJ rescued and were hammering back into place.

Kate looked down. One of her shirtsleeves was nearly torn off, the fabric hanging forlornly around her elbow. As she contemplated the ruination of another piece of clothing that evening, a hand appeared in front of her face. She looked up. The fingers wiggled impatiently. She had half a mind to ignore them and get up by herself, but she clasped the offered hand and Greg pulled her easily to her feet. She was close enough to smell the scent of clean, warm male. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, he had a cut over one eye and like his men, he looked completely in his element. Kate shook her head. Seeing was believing and she was starting to believe everything she'd been told about the Black Sheep of VMF 214.

"That's the second time tonight I've had to pick you up off the ground, Cameron," he said. "This is becoming a habit."

Kate gingerly brushed the back of her hand across her lower lip. It came away bloody.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she said, wincing.

Greg pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed her split lip, aware of his eyes on her.

Jim slung an arm around her shoulders.

"I like you, darlin'. Maybe you won't bunk with me but you're handy in a fight."

Dee took one look at Kate's lip and pulled the handkerchief out of her hands. She stepped behind the bar, spilled some ice cubes onto it, twisted the cloth to hold it in place and handed it back. Dee wrapped one arm around Casey's waist and the other around Kate's. She grinned. The look on Greg's face was impossible to read.

"You guys throw a great welcome party." Kate said. Her voice was muffled slightly by the ice pack.

"Sorry," Casey apologized. "We're usually not like this."

"He's lying. They're like this all the time," Dee said. "You get used to it after a while."

"Cameron, I don't know what they're teaching in journalism school these days but you're a hell of a lot better in a fight than any reporter we've had out here before," Greg said.

"And you're a damned sight better looking," Jim added.

"Welcome to Vella La Cava, Katie." Dee grinned at her. "You're going to fit right in here."

Kate looked at the assembled men, all in various states of torn clothing and bleeding skin. She knew she didn't look any better and thought this wasn't quite what she had in mind when she'd set out to blend in with the boys.

"Yeah," she said. "I can tell already."

"How'd you know?" Greg asked, flexing the fingers on his right hand. She knew immediately what he meant.

"That you were going to punch that guy or that you'd lead with your right?"

"Both." He looked genuinely curious.

"By the way you dance." Before he could reply, Kate turned and walked out of the building.

 **XXX**

 _I should have known that first night she was going to be different from the other reporters we'd had out here. I just didn't know how much different. Dee was right. If Cameron kept this up, she'd be one of us in no time. She already drank, flirted and fought like she'd been born to it. The only difference I could see was that she had a little longer fuse than most of the boys and she actually stopped to think about what she did before she did it. That had me worried. – GB_

 _ **XXX**_

 _Dancing with a man is an unspoken conversation, no matter what's being said out loud. Greg was heat and power and the promise of unspoken intensity. Being that close to him was an invitation to either become part of it or be incinerated by it. He moved with the grace and economy of a man who makes every movement count, no matter what he's doing – dancing, fighting or making love. Often, there's not a lot of difference between the three. I didn't even have to look at him to feel the shift in his balance before he threw that punch. Of course, I was looking at him because, well, it was really hard not to. But I'd only known the man for four hours and I sure wasn't going to tell him that. - KCC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Marine Corps vs. Press Corps**

" _I never said it would be easy. I only said it would be worth it." Mae West_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Pale morning light slid into the tent, touching her face with curious fingers. Kate rolled onto her stomach and clutched her head. The night came roaring back in Technicolor detail. Drinking. Dancing. Fighting. The only thing missing from her welcome to the 214 had been a romantic rendezvous on the beach, although that hadn't been for lack of trying on the boys' part. The unit was everything she'd been warned about. In spades.

She ran her tongue tentatively over her lower lip. Ouch. Thanks to Dee's improvised field dressing of an ice pack, it hadn't swelled. Greg's damp, blood-stained handkerchief lay next to her pillow, a reminder of how the night ended.

What in the world had she been trying to prove? Getting in a bar brawl before she'd even been at her new assignment a full day? Her torn shirt lay atop the growing pile of ruined clothing on her trunk. Those great first impressions just kept coming, didn't they?

She groaned and sat up. Today was a fresh start. Today she would start to establish working relationships and in the process, set some boundaries. But first, there had to be coffee somewhere on this base.

She dressed in trousers, another white shirt and boots and re-braided her hair. A cold water toilette at the wash rack left her feeling slightly more optimistic, or at least fully awake. She choked down a couple of aspirin and went in search of coffee. The sun was climbing over the horizon as the base came to life. She tried averting her eyes as men in various states of dress stumbled out of tents on their way to the head. Her presence here was clearly not causing them any undue modesty and they greeted her with cheerful waves and shouts.

She found some of the Black Sheep already in the mess tent. They were sporting a collection of scrapes and bruises from the night before and she was pretty sure they didn't feel any better than she did, but they seemed happy enough to see her. She helped herself to coffee and toast – the eggs looked a little dicey. She had just eased herself and her headache onto a bench when Greg strode in. If anything, he looked even better than he had last night. The cut over his eye added to his disreputable air and those blue eyes were vibrant. Damn. The man must be impervious to alcohol. If last night was any indication, he got a lot of practice.

"Cameron!" He looked genuinely surprised to see her. "How're you feeling this morning?"

His voice boomed over the low hum of the mess and she winced.

"A little hung over, are we?" Jim appeared and swung over the bench to sit next to her. Greg sat opposite. If she'd hoped to enjoy her coffee in peace, it clearly wasn't going to happen.

"Yeah," she admitted. "A little." No matter how well she'd held her liquor last night, drinking that much had not been a good idea.

"I didn't expect to see you up this early." Greg studied her as if she were a curiosity. She got the feeling journalists were routinely subjected to a rousing welcome party as a way of making sure they were incapacitated for the next 24 hours. She refused to cooperate.

"I have a job to do," she said, trying to sip coffee without hurting her lip. It wasn't working and she desperately needed the infusion of caffeine. "I didn't think my suite came with room service so if I wanted breakfast, I was going to have to get it myself."

"I'd be happy to provide room service, darlin'," Jim said, "you just tell me what you need and I'll deliver it personally."

"Do you ever quit, Captain?"

"No."

She gave up on the coffee. Turning to Greg, she said, "Do your officers always treat reporters with so much . . . consideration?"

He regarded her with a lazy smile.

"I don't know, Cameron. We've never had one that stayed long enough to find out."

She returned his frank gaze. It ought to be illegal to look that good this early in the morning. The blue eyes were coolly appraising and she got the impression her refusal to behave the way he expected was causing him to rethink his strategy for dealing with her. Too bad.

"Since you weren't here for the briefing yesterday," he said, "we go up at 0600, flying cover for a bomber squadron headed for Rabaul. We'll play tag with the Zeroes while the bombers drop their eggs and be home in time for lunch." He paused. "I don't care what you do between now and the time we take off, just stay out of the way and leave my boys alone. I want their minds on the mission, not being interviewed for the newspaper. Is that clear?" His tone held none of the what's-a-nice-girl-like-you-doing-in-a-war-like-this friendliness from last night.

Kate felt her hackles go up. It's all music and dancing until someone realizes the journalist intends to do her job, she thought. All right, if that's how he wanted to play it. She narrowed her eyes.

"If your boys can't keep their minds on what they're doing, I think that's your problem, not mine. I'm here to report news from the 214, nothing else."

"Maybe you should have thought about that last night before you drug half my squadron into a brawl." Greg stood, slapped his palms flat on the table, and leaning down to her level, pinned her with a hard stare.

" _I_ drug them into a brawl?" Kate shoved the bench back with so much force Jim nearly fell off. Rising, she went face to face with Greg over the table. She had the satisfaction of seeing a momentary jolt of surprise on his face although he didn't move. "I seem to remember you being the first one to defend my honor. And your boys were only too happy to join in. I got the impression it was a fairly commonplace occurrence."

"My mistake. Next time I'll let you handle your honor by yourself, sweetheart."

"Not a problem," she snapped. "You do your job, I'll do mine."

"Fine. Just stay off the flight line. You get run over by one of our birds and it'll mean a lot of extra paperwork for me."

"Don't worry. I'd hate to cause you any inconvenience."

Gathering up her coffee and uneaten toast, she walked stiffly out of the mess. Boyle, who was just coming through the door, leaped out of her way.

Greg waited half a beat and stalked toward the door. He ran into Boyle, who was still looking over his shoulder at Kate's departing figure, and nearly flattened him. Once outside, Greg checked to see which direction she'd gone and went the opposite way.

Boyle righted himself, looked around and said, "I got 10 bucks says she's gone by Saturday."

Black Sheep began pulling out money and placing their bets.

 **XXX**

 _After seeing the way she handled herself last night, I knew she wasn't going to take kindly to me telling her what to do. Watching her storm out of the tent, I figured I only had a couple of more days before she got fed up with me and pissed off at Jim enough to leave. Between now and then, I just had to keep her nose out of our business and that meant keeping her away from my men. - GB_

 **XXX**

Back in her tent, Kate enjoyed her breakfast in peace, undisturbed by men. Since she was the only woman on the base, she thought this was a notable achievement. She wasn't pouting, not exactly. More like re-grouping so she didn't kill someone her first day here. That would cause a lot of extra paperwork, too.

Last night's whisky-soaked glow had burned off in the hard light of morning and it was clear the Black Sheep, or at least their leader, had little use for her beyond a spin around the dance floor and an excuse to slug anything wearing Navy white.

She sighed and set down the coffee mug. It had cooled enough to be tolerable on her bruised lip. She hadn't expected Boyington – Greg, yeah, because they were on such friendly terms – to welcome her with open arms but she didn't appreciate being told to stay out of the way, either. That's not how it worked. If he didn't like it, he was just going to have to get over it. After last night, she was sure the guys would talk to her. That's what she was here for – to get their stories for the folks back home.

"French! Anderson! Casey! Get out of the rack! Flight line! Ten minutes!" The now-familiar voice bellowed from about two feet beyond her tent. Kate had no doubt he was doing it on purpose. The aspirin hadn't completely banished her headache yet. There was a pause. "Cameron! You too, if you can stay out of the way."

Kate rolled her eyes. The man knew how to make a girl feel special. She had no doubt he wanted to know where she was so he could tell her to go somewhere else.

Dropping the strap of her Nikon around her neck and stuffing a notebook in her back pants pocket, she ducked out of the tent and joined the queue of pilots straggling toward the airstrip.

Jim fell in step with her and hooked his arm through hers. Apparently his CO's edict that she leave the pilots alone had not been issued in reverse.

"Have you ever seen anything so lovely?"He gestured to the line of Corsairs with mechanics and ground crew swarming over them. The sun was above the horizon now, casting the base in a warm orange glow and the sky was a pastel smear of pink and lavender as light reflected off low clouds.

"Yeah," Kate said without thinking. "All of you coming back in one piece."

Jim stopped in mid-stride. Since his arm was wrapped through hers, this effectively drug her to a dead stop as well. She spun around awkwardly to face him.

"Are you always this cheerful in the morning? If you'd gone to the beach with me last night, I'd have made sure you woke up in a better mood."

"Sorry," she said hastily. She'd seen too many boys lift off on missions with the rising sun and never come back. No one was guaranteed a tomorrow in this war.

She craned her neck to look upward at the first fighter plane in the line and changed the subject.

"They're so big!" she exclaimed. They were. In comparison to the Spitfires she'd worked around for the last year, the Corsairs were substantially larger.

"Size matters," Jim said. "Figured you'd know that by now."

Kate hoped the color she felt in her cheeks would look like glow from the sun. She was used to pilots' off-color banter and it didn't bother her. The boys at her previous assignments hadn't exactly treated her with kid gloves but they'd waited a little more than 12 hours before starting the innuendo and come-ons. Jim hadn't even waited 10 minutes yesterday and it looked like he intended to pick up this morning where he'd left off last night.

She was fumbling for a suitable reply when Greg ducked under the plane's wing. He glared but seemed resigned to find her in the middle of the pre-mission chaos.

"Cameron, you don't listen very well. I told you to stay away from my pilots."

"This one won't stay away from me, sir," she said, going for levity. "I'm sure he won't let it happen again."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Greg said. Turning, he bellowed, "TJ!" The lanky young man was with the rest of the group, although Kate noticed he wasn't in a flight suit. "Since you're grounded, make yourself useful and take Cameron somewhere she won't get run over."

"Yes, sir." TJ turned to Kate with a friendly smile. "Come on, this way."

She followed him through the scramble of pilots and ground crew making last minute preparations. He led her to a stack of empty ammunition crates piled haphazardly next to the mechanic's shed at the end of the flight line and gave her a hand as she climbed up behind him. With the sun warm on her back and her hangover fading with the adrenaline rush of the scene before her, Kate raised her camera and framed shots of pilots and crew. She wanted to be closer but this would do. For now.

The Corsairs coughed to life as cylinders fired and caught. The throbbing cadence of the 2,000 horsepower Pratt and Whitney engines split the morning air like a war chant. Even atop her perch, Kate could feel the ground vibrate as the planes spun and powered down the airstrip. The roar was deafening as they lifted into the sky.

And then they were gone, vanished above the cloud deck. Suddenly aware of the silence, Kate lowered her camera, surprised to find herself balancing on the edge of the crates. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten so preoccupied with what she was viewing through her lens that she forgot where she was. It was an occupational hazard.

TJ gave her a hand and they scrambled down.

"I'll buy you another cup of coffee and you can write your first story about me," he said.

"Why are you grounded this morning?"

"I hit a tree earlier this week," he said cheerfully. "My bird's still waiting for parts."

Kate stared at him. He laughed, unconcerned.

"You can't fly a plane that's missing a wingtip," he continued. "Well, actually, you can, I've done it. Did you know the first time I flew with the Black Sheep, I nearly shot down Gutterman? And it wasn't long after that, I shot down Pappy. Twice. By accident, of course. Well, the second time was on purpose but how was I to know? He was flying a Japanese plane."

Kate blinked, trying to absorb this ramble of apparently unconnected information.

"Are you serious?" She didn't know which thread to pursue first. All had the potential for stories.

"As a heart attack," he quipped.

Kate pulled out her notebook and flipped to a blank page.

"I'll take you up on that coffee."

 **XXX**

 _I walked to the mess with TJ, thinking maybe I should skip the coffee and go straight back to Scotch. It might make things a little easier to deal with. Either way, it was going to take a while to make heads and tails of this outfit. It was clear Greg hadn't expected me to be conscious, let alone up and working this morning. Jim was a law unto himself but I'd dealt with his type before. And TJ was grounded because he hit a tree? Really? A tree?_

 **XXX**

The morning flew by. Kate spent a couple of hours getting the Black Sheep's history from TJ, although she wasn't sure she believed half of what he told her. Those facts were going to require confirmation and that was going to mean talking to Greg and she didn't even want to think about that right now.

TJ gave her a tour of the base and introduced her to John "Hutch" Hutchinson, the head mechanic, and Sergeant Andy Micklin, the line chief. She noticed both had been markedly absent at last night's festivities, confirming her suspicion about the mechanics' working hours. Both men were politely reserved as she shook their hands. When Micklin scowled and stomped off to yell at an underling, Hutch winked at her and grinned broadly.

TJ turned her over to Hutch and they spent an amiable hour talking about the challenges they faced trying to keep the planes in repair. When Micklin gave her the stink eye and muttered about "wiminfolk" being in places they didn't belong, she thanked Hutch for his time and dashed after Micklin.

"Sergeant, I don't know anything about these planes," Kate said briskly. "It would be a tremendous help if you could spare a moment to answer some questions for me. Hutch said you know more about Corsairs than any other mechanic in the theatre." She let her eyes go wide and hopeful.

It had the desired effect. The old school Marine chomped his cigar in agitation for a few seconds and resettled his hat. Kate could see flattery overcoming irritation.

"You said you're with the press corps?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't look like no reporter I ever seen out here before."

"I'll take that as a compliment. How many reporters have been out here before?"

"Too damn many." He studied her with an analytical gaze that took in her working attire – trousers, shirt, sturdy boots. "They never come talk to me, though. Always chattin' up them college boys."

"If they want accurate information about keeping this squadron in the air, they'd do well to go to the source."

That seemed to please him.

"How long you been here?"

"Got here yesterday evening."

"You around for the head-knockin' at the Sheep Pen last night?"

Unconsciously, Kate touched her lip.

"I was there."

"That where you got bruised up?"

"Yeah. But you should see the other guy."

Mickin laughed. It sounded like rusty gears grinding.

"How you gettin' along with Boyington?"

"Ask me again in a couple of weeks."

He burst out in guffaw of laughter. Apparently, she had passed the interrogation.

"Well, now, if you got questions about my birds, you come to the right place. You don't want to talk to them flyboys. The only thing they know how to do is wreck 'em." He transferred his cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Richardson! Bring this lady a crate to sit on. And make sure it's clean!"

Kate beamed at him. Seated on the wooden crate, she balanced her notebook on her leg. Micklin pulled up a camp stool that had seen better days. He slouched into it and hooked an arm casually across the back.

"Now, what would you like to know about my birds, missy?"

"I'd like to start with basic information about the Corsairs in terms of performance - speed, firepower, that sort of thing," Kate began. "It would be helpful if you could provide me with a brief comparison to Spitfires and Hurricanes since I'm more familiar with them. I've also heard it said that there is no other single engine fighter that can absorb more damage in battle and still get back to the home base than the Corsair. Do your experiences here support that theory and how do you and your crew utilize resources in such a remote area to make repairs in a timely manner?"

Micklin's eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. He sat up straight and broke into a toothy grin.

"Richardson! Go get us a pot of coffee. Me and this little girl here got us some talkin' to do. And make sure you bring clean mugs!"

Before the morning was over, he'd answered her questions with such thoroughness she needed to stop and sharpen her pencil more than once.

TJ caught up with her about the time the boys were due to return. Micklin bid her farewell with an affectionate pat on the back. Kate was pretty sure there was an oily handprint between her shoulder blades now but only grinned.

"Any of them college boys give you trouble, you just let me know," he said, accenting his point with his cigar.

"I appreciate that sir, but I can take care of myself," Kate said.

Micklin studied her.

"I bet you can, but a lady shouldn't have to. You just let me know who you need straightened out and I'll do the straightenin'."

Kate swallowed a smile as she turned to TJ, who was carefully staying just out of Micklin's range. When she said she wanted to shoot photos of the squadron as it returned, he suggested they drive up to an overlook that paralleled the landing strip. It was one of the highest points on the island and would be a great place for photos, he assured her. He even offered to drive her there himself.

 **XXX**

TJ parked the jeep on an outcropping of rock that offered a sweeping view of the base. The brilliant tropical sunshine was warm but an updraft from the ocean kept the air pleasant. Kate set up her tripod in the back of the vehicle and dropped back into the passenger seat to wait.

"So what's Greg's problem the press?" she asked.

TJ shifted uncomfortably at her bluntness. She smiled at him, pushing without saying a word.

"What makes you think there's a problem?" he hedged.

"For starters, the fact he put you guys off limits to me this morning when he knows talking to you is my job. And I got the impression that it's not just this morning – he doesn't want me around any of you at all."

"He . . . uh . . . it's . . . um," TJ stammered.

"Just spill it. I get the distinct feeling he would like me to go away."

"It's not you, personally, I'm sure," TJ stuttered. "I mean, he probably likes you personally, that is, because you're, um, a girl."

Kate held her patient smile and tried not to laugh. TJ was so genuinely honest it was hard not to like him. She could tell the boys were loyal to their CO and knew TJ wouldn't say anything that might undermine Greg's authority but she wondered what she _could_ get him to say.

"I'm a reporter and a photographer. Being a girl has nothing to do with it. Does he have a problem with the press or a problem with women?"

"Oh, no, Greg doesn't have any problems with women, believe me," TJ said. Then he blurted, "No, wait, it's not like that!"

In spite of TJ's continued protests, Kate was pretty sure it _was_ like that. Although Greg claimed not to have a girl at the party last night, Kate didn't doubt he had one somewhere. No man with his looks would be lacking for female companionship for very long. He didn't strike her as the type of guy who would turn it down when it presented itself, either. Just because there wasn't a girl on his arm last night didn't mean there wasn't one – or more – on standby. She realized, with a slight jolt, _she_ had been the girl in his arms last night, at least for a little while.

"So it's a problem with the press," Kate said, collecting her thoughts. "Even though he doesn't know me yet, he assumes I have an agenda against you guys because you've gotten bad press in the past?"

TJ looked evasive.

"Well, yeah, kinda, since Colonel Lard sent you, and Pappy and Lard don't get along, so anything Lard thinks is a good idea usually turns out to be trouble for us."

"Do I look like trouble?" Kate swallowed a smile as TJ fidgeted. He was saved from having to answer by the low drone of engines breaking through the clouds.

"Look! They're coming back!"

 **XXX**

As predicted, they were home in time for lunch. The squadron the Japanese had scrambled off Rabaul that morning was no match for the Black Sheep. The 214's pilots made quick work of them, the bombers hit their targets and French knocked down his fourth kill, leaving him one short of ace. They flew home in high spirits.

As they circled to land, Greg saw a jeep with two figures in it parked on an outcropping above the landing strip. He keyed his throat mike.

"You guys go on down. I need to check out some scenery." He broke to the left as the rest of the planes dropped toward the base. With the mission in the books, Greg let his thoughts drift back to Kate Cameron. He'd put her out of his mind this morning after she'd stormed out of the mess tent, looking furious and entirely too interesting for her own good. Finding her on the flight line with Jim hadn't been a huge surprise, he'd recanted and told her she could go there, after all. He figured she probably would have shown up anyway. Handing her over to TJ had been a stroke of brilliance. The kid could talk the ears off an elephant. That should keep her busy for awhile.

She intrigued him for all the obvious reasons and a few he hadn't thought about until she'd gone face to face with him at breakfast, sparks snapping out of those gray eyes. She'd gone from fashion model poise and polished manners when she got off the plane yesterday to a hangover and temper this morning and damned if she didn't look better every time he saw her.

He didn't doubt she would intrigue every other man on the base, too, and that's what had him worried. His boys weren't monks. He didn't expect them to be. He wouldn't deny he spent his share of time enjoying the company of the fairer sex but the nurses weren't living right in the middle of the base like she was. The distance between the base and the nurse's quarters gave the boys time to cool off. Even if Lard hadn't sent Cameron here to get leverage on the Black Sheep, it would be just like him to send a girl with those looks, knowing the degree of upheaval it would cause. There wasn't going to be any cooling off with her living there.

He hadn't been able to get any more information out of her last night, thanks to the damned Navy getting in the way. This morning he'd hoped to catch her in a weak moment and question her further but she hadn't exactly been approachable. He might have had something to do with that, he reflected.

It was clear she didn't appreciate being told what to do. Too bad. His unit. His rules. Like it or leave it, sweetheart. Now it was time to push her a little, to see how committed she was to staying. Or encourage her to leave. He wasn't sure which way he wanted it to play out.

He pointed his plane's nose toward the figures in the jeep.

 **XXX**

Kate stood in the back of the jeep, eye glued to her camera. Focused on what she was doing, she was oblivious to anything else. Only when the roar of the approaching engine became overwhelming, did she look up. The fighter was nearly on top of them, coming in low and fast.

"Duck!" TJ yelled.

Kate thought this was inadequate advice both in terms of timing and magnitude. Reflexively, she freed her camera from the tripod and threw herself over the side of the jeep. The back of her shirt snagged on something as she dove for cover and she jerked it loose. Her pant leg caught on the jeep's running board and she felt, rather than heard, fabric tearing. The Corsair's massive 13-foot diameter prop sent up a ground storm of debris as the plane bore down. She pressed herself against the jeep's tire, cradled her camera in her lap and covered her head.

The sound was deafening. Kate swore she could feel the vehicle rocking at her back. Something flew past her and landed with a crash, scattering in several pieces. Her tripod. Damnit! She risked a glance up and could see the multiple rising sun flags painted on the plane's side as it swept past, a scant 100 feet above them.

Boyington. Of course.

And then he was gone, soaring back into sky and curving toward the airstrip like nothing had happened.

What the hell was he playing at? First, his reception of her that alternated between freezing and smoldering, then his orders to stay out of the way this morning, now this. He certainly wasn't staying out of _her_ way.

Kate scrambled to her feet and leaped into the jeep, turning the ignition. TJ barely had time to jump into the passenger seat as she tossed her camera at him, then she threw the vehicle into gear and they hurtled down the hillside. Kate could feel a breeze on her leg and realized her pants were torn from thigh to ankle.

She screeched onto the flight line just as Greg climbed out of his bird. She punched the jeep down the line, narrowly missing Anderson, who leaped out of the way with a yelp.

The Black Sheep's leader appeared around the nose of his plane, peeling off his headgear and laughing with Jim and Don, slapping the latter on the back.

Kate flew out of the jeep and stormed toward them.

"In what universe did you think that was funny? I nearly broke my neck, my pants are ripped and my tripod's in pieces."

Greg looked surprised. He studied her leg.

"Yeah. I see that."

She glanced down. A considerable length of bare thigh was exposed. She glared at him.

"What's she talking about?" Jim looked at Greg.

"No idea."

Jim's grin traveled the length of her ripped pants. Kate wanted to reach down and pull the edges of the torn fabric together but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of thinking she was uncomfortable. Because she wasn't. Not really.

"What do you mean, you don't know!" She was furious. "Was that little flyover your idea of a joke?"

"We put 18 planes in the air this morning and brought 18 home, how did you know it was me?" Greg asked. That seemed to interest him more than the fact she was chewing his butt for it.

"You were close enough I could count your kill flags. You've kind of got more than anyone else, you know." She broke off in incoherent sputters. He was grinning at her, not looking a bit sorry for what he'd done, only that he'd gotten caught doing it.

In frustration, she rounded on TJ, who was standing behind her.

"And you!" She jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. He took an uncertain step back. "You're no better! You set me up! _Come with me, Kate, I know a great place for you to take pictures_ ," she mimicked. "If you ever try that again – "

Greg threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from TJ. She glared at him. He gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze. She jerked free.

"It's not his fault," Greg said. "He didn't know anything about it. Come on, let's go have a drink and celebrate French's fourth Zero." He turned to get into the jeep.

"It's 10 o'clock in the morning! Is there any problem you can't solve with alcohol?" Kate snapped.

He turned to face her.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm looking at it."

She glared at him.

"Then you better make mine a double." She slid into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. TJ hastily handed over her camera and jumped into the back with Don and Jim.

Greg threw the jeep into gear and they sped off toward the Sheep Pen.

"By the way," he said, "there's a big hole in the back of your shirt, too."

 **XXX**

 _She'd been here less than 24 hours and so far I hadn't seen anything she'd back down from, including me, Jim or the U.S. Navy. I was starting to think she might be worth keeping around, just to see what she'd do next. - GB_

 **XXX**

 _If my time here so far was any indication, this unit operated on equal parts nerve and Scotch. I didn't dare let my guard down around any of them. And I was running out of clothes. - KCC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Place your bets**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

By the time the jeep rolled to a stop in front of the Sheep Pen, Kate had decided to pick her battles and it was clear she wasn't going to win this one. In spite of her torn clothes and lingering irritation with Greg, she attended the mission debrief. Jim splashed liberal doses of whisky into glasses while the boys congratulated Don on his fourth Zero. She eyed him suspiciously when he handed her one.

"Hair of the dog," he said cheerfully. It would have been rude not to honor Don's kill so Kate lifted her glass in a toast and let the alcohol slide down her throat. The amount of coffee she'd consumed that morning had scoured away the fog of last night's excess and the Scotch tasted better than it should have. Since when did she start drinking the hard stuff before noon? Then the men went in their own directions, leaving her alone with a head full of swirling thoughts.

Kate sequestered herself in a corner of the room to review the notes from her morning conversations with TJ, Hutch and Micklin. A story angle was taking shape and she would have preferred to develop it in a quieter place but working in her tent was unlikely since she didn't have a desk. On the other hand, she had a box of grenades. The possibilities were endless.

Using the Sheep Pen as a newsroom turned out to be a questionable decision. The table smelled like beer and around her, assorted Black Sheep were playing cards and shooting the breeze. The boys, at least, seemed inclined to stop and chat with her about the morning's mission. They were as friendly in the hard light of day as they'd been at last night's alcohol-fueled blowout. She hadn't seen Greg since the debrief.

Kate was not inclined to ask him about acquiring a desk because she would rather it not appear like she needed him for anything. It was pure stubborn ego on her part and she knew it. Personally, she thought he owed her one after that morning's flyover but doubted he saw it that way. The other pilots all knew about it by now and thought it was funny. Of course they did. They were men.

She looked around the room. Bobby Boyle was holding court at the bar. Several other boys were clustered around him. Anderson looked up at her, grinned, and said something to Boyle. She could have sworn she saw money changing hands but it was over in the blink of an eye.

Kate shook her head. She wouldn't deny she liked working with fighter pilots. She liked their irreverent humor and being part of the adrenaline rush that was their lifestyle. And she liked the feel of a pair of strong arms pulling her close on the dance floor or the brush of a roughly shaven cheek against hers. She'd spent the better part of the last two years working in newsrooms and around military bases where men outnumbered women ten to one and she'd never had a problem separating work from pleasure.

There hadn't been a lot of the latter, although she thought there had been at the time. Finding true pleasure in a relationship with a man went beyond the physical act. It was a matter of trust and respect but in hindsight, there'd been precious little of that with Andrew. Oh, she'd trusted him all right. That had been her first mistake.

Once the smoke from _that_ flameout had cleared, she allowed herself to enjoy the camaraderie that came with a solid working relationship with the units she covered but always stopped short of crossing the unspoken line that separated work from anything else. It was just better that way. She knew men's teasing was an inevitable part of it and she flirted as easily as she breathed but that's as far as it went. Usually.

She didn't want to think about men in general or Greg Boyington in particular because he sent her mind wandering off in directions that had absolutely nothing to do with reporting or photography. The fact she was drinking – and enjoying – whisky before noon was something else she didn't want to think about. The Naval base on Pearl had been a little uptight for her liking but this place was the complete opposite and she wasn't sure how to handle it. Them. Him.

As if on cue, Greg stuck his head in the door and said, "Let's go, Cameron, bring your notebook." He disappeared and the door slapped shut.

Some men were impossible to ignore. She gathered up her notebook and pencil and bolted outside.

"If you're going to write about the Black Sheep, you need to understand what we do and how we do it," he said as she caught up. They were headed back to the flight line. "We do things a little different in the South Pacific than what you covered in England."

"Which is a polite way of saying you don't think I know what I'm doing," Kate said pleasantly.

"I didn't say that." He didn't slow down.

"You don't have to. I can tell."

"How? The same way you could tell I was going to throw a right at that idiot last night? And don't tell me it has anything to do with dancing."

"All right." She didn't elaborate.

Greg stopped. He glared at her but she noticed the corner of his mouth was twitching.

"Are you always this difficult?"

"No." She was enjoying the exchange in spite of herself. Something about him made her throw caution to the wind. "Sometimes I'm worse."

Greg muttered under his breath. She thought he said, "That's not possible," but didn't ask him to repeat it.

"Hey, Katie!" Hutch waved from atop a ladder. He was half in, half out of a plane's engine.

"Hey, Hutch!"

"You're on a first name basis with my mechanic now?" Greg asked.

"I'm sorry, is he off limits, too, or is that just your pilots?"

Greg made a noncommittal noise and continued on to the Corsair with rows of kill flags near the cockpit. Yeah, that one looked familiar, Kate thought.

"How much do you know about our birds?" he asked.

"I know they're very loud when one is trying to land on my head," she said, a little more sharply than she intended.

He ignored her.

"The Corsair is going to turn the war in the South Pacific," he said. "The Zeroes are lighter and more maneuverable but Corsairs are faster and tougher. They climb at a rate of over 3,000 feet per minute and have .50 caliber wing-mounted machine guns. That's better armament than the Zeroes, plus – this is important, why aren't you writing it down?"

"I have a very good memory," Kate said. "Faster, tougher, over 3,000 feet per minute climb rate, wing mounted .50 cal machine guns, better armed than Zeroes." _And I wrote it down three hours ago when your line chief told me the same thing._ When he kept glaring at her, she added, "Would you feel better if I wrote it down?"

"Yes. The press we've had out here before never got anything right."

"Do I look like the press you've had out here before?"

Greg planted his hands on his hips and stared at her. She stared back. With an exaggerated sigh, she pulled her notebook out of her pocket and began scribbling.

"Anything for you, Boyington," she muttered.

"Is that a promise?"

His tone was whisky smooth and her heart skipped a beat. She didn't dare look up, she knew that devastating smile would derail her train of thought. He was just as bad as the rest of them. The easy flirting that had been so much in evidence last night clearly wasn't restricted to parties. And damn it, all he had to do was _look_ at her and she'd pretty much forgiven him for trashing another shirt and pair of pants this morning. She wasn't about to tell him that. She'd barely been on the base a day and had already ruined a skirt, a pair of stockings, three shirts and a pair of pants. At this rate, she'd be running around starkers in a matter of days. She wondered if he knew what that smile did to women. Yeah. He knew.

Fortunately for her, he had already moved on, giving her a walk-around tour of the aircraft and pointing out specific attributes. Stepping to the trailing edge of the wing, he tapped a hand near the tip.

"The flaps here control side-to-side roll," he began. She noticed he wasn't looking at the plane. He was watching her, that calculating half-smile on his face again.

"That's the aileron," she corrected him drily. "The flaps are closer to the fuselage and they control lift. The ailerons are near the wingtips and they control roll."

He didn't say anything, just gave her an assessing look. After some discussion about the under-belly bomb mounts and the use of wing-mounted cameras for aerial recon, they moved to the tail assembly.

"Here you've got your elevators and –"

"Would you stop that!" It wasn't a question.

"Stop what?" His face was a study in innocence. The combination of dimples, smile and blue eyes were devastating. She alternated between wanting to slap him and, well, never mind. Neither course of action would be appropriate.

"Stop testing me. That's a horizontal stabilizer and you know it. I hate flying but I know how an airplane works."

"You hate flying? Why?"

The sudden change of topic caught her off guard.

"I – " she started. She didn't know exactly why she hated it but air travel had always tied her in knots. "Because I'd rather stay on the ground," she finished lamely.

He laughed.

"Well, sweetheart, that would be one good reason."

She let the subject drop. Greg was still expounding on the finer points of Corsairs when something on the plane's rudder caught her eye.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing.

A series of square metal patches were neatly riveted onto the body. Each square bore the distinctive logo of Golden Ale beer. She answered her own question.

"Beer cans? Why is your plane patched with beer cans?"

"Because we have a lot of them and they cover the holes after Hutch pulls the lead out of our tails," he answered. "Want to see what he can do with baling wire?"

"Baling - ? No. Seriously, why beer cans?" She was fascinated.

"I mean it - because we have a lot of them. Metal is hard to come by out here. We use whatever we can get our hands on." His eyes were dead serious now. "What we can't get through channels or trade for, we make ourselves. If we can't get new parts, we rebuild the old ones or salvage from wrecked planes. Sometimes they hold up. Sometimes they don't. I've lost more pilots to equipment failure than I have to the Japanese."

Kate had her notebook open and was scribbling in earnest now. They were standing on the starboard side of his plane, the kill flags a deadly reminder of the danger faced by the men who flew these machines day after day.

"Here." Greg cupped his hands together and held them at knee level. "Climb up. Take a look."

Without a second thought, Kate shoved the notebook into her pocket and put her left foot into his locked palms. She balanced one hand on his shoulder, conscious of the hot muscle under her fingers as he tossed her lightly onto the wing. She found the toe-holds and scrambled up to lean into the cockpit.

Kate had grown up with an affinity for mechanical things, driving her parents' Minneapolis-Moline tractor and tearing down the country roads in their Ford farm truck but she was the first to admit her sense of adventure was firmly attached to the ground. She had no desire to fly an airplane.

She hadn't been kidding when she told Greg she hated flying. The bigger the plane, the better, as far as she was concerned. Anything smaller than a transport scared the hell out of her. The irony of her job was not lost on her.

But this plane was safely on the ground and her curiosity was piqued. She braced her hands on the edge of the canopy and swung into the cockpit. Dropping into the seat, she looked around.

It was roomy by comparison to the Spitfires. It was also a completely foreign world. An array of gauges, switches and other gadgets covered the instrument panel. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The lingering ghosts of aviation fuel and engine exhaust filled her nose.

Feeling completely out of her element, she thought about the boys who flew these war birds – every arrogant, skirt-chasing, brawling, drinking, propositioning, regulation-breaking one of them. Even if TJ had been telling her the truth this morning and the entire squadron really _had_ been pulled out of a pool of court martial candidates, they were fighting to defend the United States in planes held together with beer can patches and rebuilt parts from the scrap yard. She smiled. She had locked down the angle for her first story.

She vaulted lightly out of the cockpit onto the wing and back to the ground. It was like sliding off a horse. A very tall horse. Greg leaned against the wing, watching her. He didn't offer to help her down. She didn't ask, either.

Regaining her balance, she looked at him.

"Okay. What's next?"

 **XXX**

 _No, she didn't look like any of the press we'd ever had out here before. She didn't act like them, either. Hutch told me she spent an hour with Micklin that morning and when I saw him at evening mess, he was still smiling. If I could just keep her away from the guys until she'd had all of the heat and mud and mosquitoes she could stand, we might get out of this without getting the shaft again. Yeah. Even Boyle wouldn't give odds on that. - GB_

 **XXX**

That evening, Kate borrowed a jeep and drove to the nurses' quarters to visit Dee and use her shower. The boys made it abundantly clear she was welcome to use their shower facilities any time she wanted, including when they were using them. She'd seen their showers. No thanks. Taking her clothes off outdoors on a base full of boys with over-the-top sex drive, even within the relative privacy of an enclosed shower stall, was beyond her comfort level. She thanked them for their generosity and fled in the opposite direction.

"How was your first day with the 214?" Dee asked.

"Interesting." Kate's voice was muffled by the towel as she dried her hair.

"You're a writer, you can do better than that. How interesting was it?"

Kate shoved damp hair off her face. She wasn't sure where to start.

"You know, the usual."

"The usual? Katie, I have no idea what 'the usual' is these days but you came in here tonight with your clothes torn to ribbons and a gleam in your eye." Dee fixed her friend with a pointed look. "You smell like Scotch and engine oil, your nose is sunburned and for someone who was in a bar fight last night and should still be hung over as a dog, you look awfully happy."

"I've got a good story idea, that's all." Kate pulled on clean clothes. She couldn't keep the smile off her face. She _was_ happy. This place was growing on her.

Dee tried a different approach.

"What happened to your clothes this time?"

Kate made a face.

"I had to bail out of a jeep in a hurry." She didn't elaborate, unsure how she felt about the incident in spite of her initial temper.

Dee kept her smile to herself. She'd already heard the story from Casey, who'd heard it from Jim, who'd been on the flight line and witnessed the aftermath firsthand.

"Are you getting along with him?" She didn't need to elaborate on who _him_ was.

"Yeah. Kind of." Kate moved in front of the mirror and combed out her hair. They were getting along just well enough to be civil to each other but she got the feeling that could change at any moment. "We spent the afternoon talking about the air campaign in the Solomons. He doesn't trust me any further than he can throw me right now. He's pretty sure I won't get anything right in the papers and he definitely doesn't want me distracting his men. We had a little discussion about that before the sun was up this morning."

"It's a little late for him to be worrying about that," Dee said, suddenly occupied with a pile of clean laundry. "There's something you need to know."

"There's always something I need to know," Kate said, "that's why I'm a reporter." She sat in Dee's desk chair and leaned back on two legs. It felt good to be clean and in clothing that did not have any holes in it. She figured it was probably a temporary condition.

"There's a bet going on. Two bets, actually."

"Oh what?" Kate asked idly. Flyboys betting on things wasn't exactly breaking news.

Dee fiddled with her laundry.

"On. What." Kate repeated. Dee's delayed response triggered her interest.

"On you."

"Who's betting on me? And what about?"

"The Black Sheep, the whole lot of them." Dee finally met her eyes. She looked amused. "The first bet is how long you're going to last here. Most of them think you'll be gone in a few more days. The second one is if you stay longer, who you'll end up with."

"End up with?"

"Yeah. You know. Sleep with."

Kate set the chair down with a thump.

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard!"

"I'm serious," Dee said, a little defensively. "They're the Black Sheep, they'll bet on anything and I mean _anything_."

"Well I'm not leaving, I just got here! And I'm not sleeping with any of them!" Kate shot back, indignant. "They might as well just give their money back right now. And how did you find out about it?"

"Casey told me. You know what pilots are like? Katie, these guys are the worst. And it never stops. They would hit on you if they were half dead. Besides, when did you turn into the Virgin Mary?"

Kate scowled at her. Dee had a point. She hadn't exactly been celibate the last few years. She hadn't exactly been promiscuous either. It just seemed wrong to be thinking about anything but her job when she'd only been here a day. Besides, after England, she was in no hurry to be involved with a man beyond the professional level.

"How the hell do those guys get off taking bets on something like that?"

Dee shrugged.

"It's what they do. They started this morning, after the mission. I think they were going to start last night, but what with the fight and all, they never got around to it. It started with how long you'd last and went from there."

She remembered Anderson's knowing grin. So _that_ 's what they'd been doing in the Sheep Pen that afternoon.

Kate choked back her irritation. She was here to do a job and sleeping with any of them wasn't part of it. She had a few other issues on her mind. Like finding a desk. And a dark room. Like diplomatic relations between her and Greg because she was going to have to work with him for the foreseeable future. The man set off warning bells on so many different levels she didn't know where to start.

"What makes them think I'm going to sleep with any of them?" she demanded. Curiosity was nibbling away her annoyance.

"Those boys fly nurses as well as they fly planes and I think you have an even higher status than the nurses," Dee pointed out. "You're way more available, if you know what I mean. They have to make it a point to find us but you're right there on the base."

"Who's involved in this bet?" Kate really didn't want to know. She wanted to get to know the boys without any predetermined prejudices but she got the feeling forewarned was forearmed.

"I think all of them are betting on how soon you decide you can't stand it here and pack it in. The current odds are you'll be gone in a few more days, although the second bet hinges on you staying, so it's kind of contradictory. They don't really want you to leave but they think you probably will. That's what Casey says."

Kate looked at her friend, bemused.

"Go on."

"As for the second bet, Jim and TJ are the front-runners." She laughed at the scandalized look on Kate's face. "TJ, mostly because he's a smooth operator. Seriously. And Jim. Well, because he's Jim. Watch out for him. He's got a reputation and girls don't tell him no. But I think all of the boys want to think they're a contender. Except Casey."

"Except Casey. Of course. What – Greg isn't involved in this?"

Dee shook her head. "I think he's betting on how soon you'll leave, but he's what, 15 years older than you? So he's not a likely candidate otherwise. Although I don't know why that should stop him, he's as much of a skirt chaser as any of them."

"Thirteen," Kate said absently, packing up her shower things.

"Thirteen what?" Dee was puzzled.

"He's thirteen years older than me. He's 35, I'm 22. Why are you looking at me like that? It came up in conversation last night."

"I noticed you dancing with him."

"I danced with all of them," Kate said practically.

"But not all of them looked at you the way he did. I don't know what he said to make you blush but even Casey noticed it. The two of you looked good together."

 _Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway?_

 _You could say that._

Heat and smoke and blue eyes that held her captive.

"I think you had too much to drink," Kate said. She wasn't sure how she felt about any of this. It was better if she just stayed focused on her job. "He doesn't want a reporter in the middle of his squadron and he's trying to figure out how to get rid of me without it looking like he's trying to get rid of me."

"He didn't look like he wanted to get rid of you last night," Dee said.

"That was last night. He wasn't exactly all hearts and flowers this morning but he was a little friendlier in the afternoon. Maybe he just isn't a morning person." Kate waved her hand dismissively. "Thanks for the shower. I'd better get back. There are so few lights in that place that once it gets dark, I'm afraid I'll end up in the wrong tent and that's the last thing I need right now."

She drove back to the base through the gathering dusk. A bet on how soon she'd leave? And who she'd sleep with? Seriously? In all the places she'd been posted before, they'd never bet on her. At least not that she knew about.

 **XXX**

 _I've known Dee Ryan since our first day of kindergarten together. She's tough, smart and a brilliant nurse. It was great, having her stationed close, and I knew I could count on her to help me stay one step ahead of the Black Sheep. The problem was, Dee is also a hopeless romantic. I had a feeling she might not have been so optimistic about how Greg felt about me if she'd been in my shoes today but there was no telling her that._

 **XXX**

Kate put the jeep back where she'd found it and walked to her tent as twilight fell. She reviewed her first 24 hours on La Cava as she got ready for bed. Was this going to be her new normal? War correspondents did not have the luxury of a fixed beat or regular hours. Being embedded with the 214 meant falling into whatever passed for the normal rhythm of life here and that was going to take a while, not to mention figuring out how to handle all the different personalities in play.

She pondered the concept of normal. She wasn't normal and she knew it. Normal girls married the boy next door, had babies and baked pies for church bazaars. She'd kissed normal good-bye two years ago when she threw in with the Associated Press and moved to Europe.

Now, she thought normal was any condition that allowed her to stay in one piece long enough to capture the images and words that brought the war to the people on the home front. She'd thrown herself into her work with a single-minded pursuit that saw her career escalate and her personal life, well, that was her business, wasn't it?

When it came to relationships with members of the opposite sex during war time, the concept of normal was pretty much non-existent. Passions were ignited by chance encounters and fueled by the uncertainty of the future. She'd heard, "Come with me tonight, we could die tomorrow" more times than she wanted to admit. Sometimes it worked.

She turned off the tent's overhead light. Like all the other tents on the base, its canvas sides were rolled up to catch the night breezes. It was easier to dress and undress in the dark than it was to try rolling them down and back up whenever she wanted privacy. She slipped out of her shirt and pants and pulled on the oversized man's shirt she wore for pajamas. Making her way across the dark tent, she climbed into bed. She'd just punched the pillow into a semi-comfortable lump when something furry brushed her bare leg under the blanket.

 **XXX**

Jim, TJ, Casey and Bobby Boyle crouched in the shadows behind a stack of ammo crates next to the VIP tent. They watched as Kate returned from the nurse's quarters – no amount of encouragement could convince her to use their showers – and she'd just turned out her light.

"Where'd you put it?" Boyle asked.

"It's in her bunk, under the blanket," Jim hissed. "She'll find it any minute now."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Casey was the group's conscience. He'd heard about the way Kate had gone toe-to-toe with Greg that morning. Twice. And after seeing her dive into the fight at the Sheep Pen the previous night, he wasn't sure messing with her was a good idea. If Dee told her about the running bets, there'd be hell to pay all around.

"If she can't take a joke, she don't belong here," Jim said. He was harboring a slight grievance at the ease with which she'd turned him down. He was not used to women telling him no with such casual disregard. "Besides, ya'll heard Greg – all bets are off when it comes to getting her to leave. This should help her on the way and if we have a little fun in the process, well . . ." He shrugged, grinning.

Night insects hummed. On the flight line, a mechanic cursed, followed by the sound of metal crashing against metal.

Suddenly a scream split the night. Jim looked at the other boys and grinned.

"Son of a bitch!" Kate's voice rang through the air. "Bloody! Fucking! Hell!"

The men crouching in the shadows high-fived each other. Any minute now, she'd come running out, crying for help. They waited in anticipation.

The light went on in the tent. It swung in a mad arc that sent shadows dancing against the canvas. A series of dull thuds sounded in succession, accompanied by a string of expletives, then the mosquito netting was yanked back. The boys peered around the crates, holding their breath.

Something furry sailed through the air and landed in the road. It squeaked, then staggered off into the undergrowth. The netting was yanked back down with finality. Silence reigned.

 **XXX**

Greg heard the scream and from the first note, knew it was fueled by temper, not terror. He wasn't sure what the boys had done but Kate was using language that would make a sailor blush.

God forbid they did anything that would truly offend the girl. He wondered how far they could push it before she got mad enough to take things through channels. He just wanted her gone and preferably before she brought the entire squadron up on charges. She knew her way around a fighter plane, he'd give her that. She'd asked a lot of intelligent questions that afternoon, but even if she managed to get the story straight for the newspapers, the fact remained it was only a matter of time before the guys did something she'd call them out on. If they hadn't already. He felt a slight twinge of guilt. He _had_ given them carte blanche to run her off, after all, although that was back when he thought she was a he. Not that it should matter.

The swearing ended abruptly, then silence.

He supposed he'd better go lay down the law. Half the time he felt like the boys' CO, the other half he felt like their den mother. The balance between discipline, respect, leadership and friendship was a fluid thing and with this bunch, it seemed like the coin was always in the air with no indication of how it might land. Jamming his feet into boots, he headed outside in his shorts and a T-shirt in the evening warmth to defuse the latest crisis.

"What the hell are you doing?" he addressed the group emerging from the shadows near Kate's tent. Meatball ran in circles, sniffing the hot scent of the recently banished creature.

"Um, a rat got in Kate's bunk by accident," Casey said. "You know, one of those big brown ones from the dump."

"By accident." Greg's tone indicated he doubted the degree of accident. "And you were all conveniently waiting to rescue her?" He looked toward her tent. "You all right in there, Cameron?"

"I'm fine, thanks. No need to call an exterminator." She did not come out.

"Go to bed, you meatheads, party's over," Greg said. The group dispersed, clearly disappointed. Not only had the rodent failed to send her trembling into their collective arms, she'd dispatched it with an efficiency that was a little frightening.

On a whim, Greg ducked back into his tent and grabbed the fifth of Scotch sitting on his desk. Kate's light was still on when he came back.

"Cameron?"

Meatball didn't wait, he just pushed the netting aside and trotted in, tail wagging. Greg figured the dog could get by with that. He was pretty sure he shouldn't try it. Her irritation with him that morning after the flyover had been more than a little attractive and although they'd gotten along well enough in the afternoon, he wasn't entirely sure where he stood with her. He wasn't sure why he cared, either.

"Come in." Her voice was resigned.

She was standing in the middle of the tent, an exasperated look on her face, holding the toe of a boot in one hand like the handle of a club. Her bunk looked like someone had attacked it with a baseball bat. Meatball flopped at her feet and went belly up. She bent to pet him, the expression on her face softening. The fabric of her shirt tugged in interesting directions as she stood up.

"I hate rats," she said. "I've hated rats ever since one ran across my toes when I was a little girl, helping shell corn."

"I'd say you put the fear of God into that one. Nightcap?" He gestured with the bottle. He looked for a chair, didn't find one and settled for leaning against a stack of tarp-covered crates.

"Nightcap or apology for your boys?"

Damned if she hadn't seen right through him. From the look on her face, she thought he owed her an apology for the whole day.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

"Is that a promise?" She tossed his words from that afternoon back at him. Those smoky hazel eyes were an open challenge. She dropped the boot and held out her hand. He looked for glasses and not seeing any, uncorked the bottle and handed it to her. She raised it in mock salute before tipping it back. Greg watched as she took a generous swallow. His gaze traveled the length of her bare legs. She cleared her throat and his eyes came back to her face.

"I'll find some pants," she said.

"Don't go to any trouble on my account." He grinned. Hell, she was already mad at him about the flyover and apparently it was guilt by association for the rat. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

She glared at him.

"Don't you think it's inappropriate to be in a tent after dark with a female civilian who's half dressed?"

He chuckled.

"Cameron, if you've got a problem with inappropriate, you're in the wrong place. Besides, you asked me in."

The hem of the white shirt fell to her upper thigh. God. Those legs.

"Do you always rescue damsels in distress in just your skivvies?" Her glance lingered on his bare legs. All right, turnabout was fair play, he thought.

"Sweetheart, if you haven't noticed, this place is a little warmer than Edinburgh. If you expect men in full uniform you're about 10,000 miles too far south. And you don't strike me as the type who needs rescuing."

She didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows.

"Turn around. I'll find some pants." She made a little wiggling motion with her hand.

"No, really, don't go to any trouble on my account." He leaned back against the crates and crossed one foot over the other. He was enjoying her company more than he intended. The fact she wasn't wearing much helped but he found himself drawn to her attitude as much as her body. That air of quietly unshakable confidence was beyond sexy. He wondered if she were that confident about everything.

She matched his grin with one of her own. Her eyes were dark, irritation replaced by dry humor.

"Turn around, Boyington."

"Are you giving orders now?"

"Would you listen if I did?"

He grinned at her.

"Maybe."

He was rewarded with a jolt of surprise in those eyes, then he turned his back and studied the tent ceiling. She must have grabbed the first thing that came to hand. He heard pants being shaken out and fabric sliding over bare skin.

"Okay."

She'd put on the fatigues she'd been wearing that morning. One leg was ripped from thigh to ankle, so it wasn't a total loss from his standpoint. She began gathering up loose sheets of notepaper that were scattered across the floor.

"About your tripod," he said, trying to take his mind off the shape of her rump as she bent over. "Anderson thinks he can rig up something until Casey can find you a new one."

She straightened and looked at him, surprised.

He took a drink and passed the bottle back to her.

"I'll find a desk for you tomorrow. And get the guys to move some of this stuff out of here so you have more room to work."

"Thank you. That would be nice." Her tone was polite, a little suspicious.

She took a final pull at the bottle and handed it back. He turned to go.

"Flight line at 0700 tomorrow, Cameron. Try to stay out of the way."

She raised her chin in acknowledgement.

"Greg?"

He turned back. He liked the sound of his name on her lips. Sitting on the tangled blanket in the unflattering light of the tent's bare 60-watt bulb, she looked like a street urchin, hair tumbling wild over one shoulder, pants torn, lip bruised. She was even more of an attractive nuisance now than she'd been 24 hours earlier and he wasn't any closer to finding out what she was doing here. She had no business complicating his life like this.

"What?"

"I have a first name. You could use it."

He grinned.

"Good night, Cameron."

Meatball licked her hand and trotted out after him.

 **XXX**

 _She was a lit fuse and it was just a matter of time before something blew up. I needed to know who I was dealing with because those big gray eyes and damned long legs had a way of taking a guy's mind off the cold hard fact that she couldn't be up to any good. It didn't help that I was starting to like her for all the wrong reasons. –GB_

 **XXX**

 _I lay there in the dark after he left and thought nothing anyone told me could have prepared me for this assignment. The heat and mosquitoes and Japanese and Scotch were the least of it. The more they wanted me to leave, the more I wanted to stay. - KCC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: What part of no . . .**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Kate approached breakfast in the morning with a guarded smile. The boys' cheerful greetings were overlaid with solicitous concern about how she'd slept and warnings to be on the lookout for island wildlife that occasionally wandered into tents.

She matched their grins and thanked them for the warning. Yeah. She was keeping an eye out for the wildlife, all right.

She was so focused on maneuvering the spigot on the coffee urn, which seemed determined not to run faster than a trickle, she didn't see Greg until he was standing next to her.

"Morning, Cameron."

"Morning, Boyington."

He held her eye just long enough for her breath to catch in her throat, then tossed her something. She caught it single handedly, neatly managing not to spill the coffee, then jumped and spilled it anyway when she realized she was holding a rat trap.

The evening rushed back in a jumble of irritation and reluctant humor. She felt heat rising in her cheeks as she remembered the way he'd looked at her before she could find a pair of pants. She didn't have anyone to blame for that but herself. She'd invited him in without a thought to what she was wearing.

That worked both ways, she told herself firmly, although she thought it unlikely she would ever walk into his quarters and find him half dressed. If she did, she doubted it would bother him at all. It seemed normal here for the guys to walk around shirtless or in their skivvies. She had yet to see any of them in anything that resembled a regulation uniform, although Casey had come close a time or two. Probably by accident. She kind of enjoyed the unit's lackadaisical approach to regulation dress but she wasn't going to tell them that.

After breakfast, Kate took full advantage of Greg's orders from the previous evening to "Try to stay out of the way." She joined the squadron as they prepped for the morning mission. He didn't turn her over to anyone for babysitting this time and she enjoyed her freedom, shooting several rolls of film among the chaos of the flight line.

Three hours later, the Black Sheep returned, more or less in one piece.

TJ's bird, its wing mended, came back with smoke pouring out of the engine. He managed to set it down before it gave up the ghost and had to be pushed off the end of the airstrip. The landing made for what Kate hoped would be some dramatic photos although no one got very excited about it and she gathered this was a common occurrence.

French's plane blew a fuel line just as he touched down. He lost power and went careening off the strip, managing to stop just before smacking into a copse of trees. Greg's bird limped in with dropping oil pressure, while Casey had half of his right wing flaps chewed off by enemy fire, making for another erratic landing.

Kate focused on the pilots' faces as they regrouped on the ground and went to de-brief. She was anxious to get the film developed and hoped her camera caught the blend of exhaustion and elation that marked the end of a mission where just getting back in one piece qualified as success. She joined the boys in the Sheep Pen and wasn't surprised when Anderson handed her a glass of Scotch along with everyone else. She refused to look at her wristwatch. It was five o'clock somewhere.

After lunch, she decided it was time to address the issue of a dark room. She couldn't wait any longer to process her film. She was working up to swallowing her pride and asking Greg for help when the matter resolved itself. Don and Bobby Boyle pulled up in a jeep and offloaded a battered but functional desk.

"Pappy asked us to deliver this," Don said, wedging it into the tight space at the end of her bunk. While she delightedly began organizing her field office, the boys hauled some of the miscellaneous supply crates out of the tent, including, to her relief, the grenades.

Don gestured at the two big trunks they'd carried in the night she arrived.

"Would you like us to put those in storage?" he asked. They were taking up a lot of space just inside the door.

"Those are dark room supplies," Kate said, shaking her head. "I guess they can stay here for a while. It's not like I have anywhere to use them."

"We have a darkroom, didn't Greg tell you?" Bobby asked.

"No," Kate said in surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah, come on, we'll show you."

She half suspected this was the set-up for another practical joke but joined them as they led her across the compound. It turned out, their claim was legit.

The darkroom was more like a dark closet but Kate didn't care. Measuring roughly twelve feet by eight feet and located in a small anteroom at the back of the Sheep Pen, it had everything she needed. In unspoken apology for the rat, Don and Bobby nearly fell over themselves to deliver her supply trunks. In a reciprocal spirit of cooperation, she offered to process any film the squadron shot on upcoming missions. She'd seen some of their prints during that morning's briefing and had refrained from asking how in the world they could get any useful information from the grainy, streaked images.

"You've got enough light leaks in here to read a book by," Kate said, standing in the dark as Don shone a flashlight along the exterior door jam. "No wonder your negatives are fogged. And your fixer is so far out of date you might as well be drawing pictures with crayons."

No one seemed inclined to argue with her. Various Black Sheep helped hang the blackout curtains she'd brought with her and arranged tanks and trays to her liking while she set up the enlarger. With half a dozen rolls of film to process, she couldn't wait to get started.

It was inevitable the men offered to help her. Just exactly what kind of help they had in mind remained to be seen. After her conversation with Dee the day before, she suspected any offers of assistance were going to be a thinly veiled excuse to spend time alone with her in a small, dark space. What could possibly go wrong with that?

Bob Anderson, who had been doing the unit's darkroom work before she arrived, offered to help her develop negatives and she took him up on it. She was comfortable with Anderson because she knew he was involved in a relatively steady relationship with one of the nurses, Ellen somebody. She had no idea if that meant he would keep his hands off her or not but if she had to be alone with one of the Black Sheep in the dark, she'd rather it be one who at least knew developer from stop bath. She enjoyed TJ's company yesterday but that seemed like tempting fate. And Jim? She might be crazy but she wasn't stupid. The last place she wanted to be was alone in the dark with him. Once again, Greg had vanished. It seemed like the closer the boys wanted to get, the more distance he put between himself and her. Last night notwithstanding. The man left her mind in a tangle.

Bob turned out to be excellent help. He was gracious and well-spoken and the afternoon passed with amiable conversation while developing negatives. He backed up TJ's story about how the Black Sheep came to exist. Kate found herself jotting notes while he talked.

"How did Greg manage to steal an entire squadron?" she asked. She put down her pencil long enough to fill a metal cylinder with water and jiggled it to rinse the negatives inside.

"He can find a way to do whatever he sets his mind to. The man's a strategic genius." Bob shrugged his shoulders. "And once we started racking up more kills than any other unit, Colonel Lard couldn't say much, could he? Don't get Greg started on Lard, there's no love lost there. That man won't do anything that isn't printed in the Marine Corps Manual. But you'll have made his acquaintance, right?"

"No, I haven't," Kate said. She wiped down a strip of negatives and hung them to dry. "All the arrangements that brought me here were made through the Associated Press liaison in this theatre. I was supposed to meet Colonel Lard during my layover on Espritos on the way out here but he was in meetings that day, so it didn't happen."

"So Lard doesn't know you're, um, you know, a woman?"

"I don't know if he does or not," Kate said thoughtfully. "Does it matter?"

"Lard's a stickler for regs. I doubt he approves of female correspondents in the first place, let alone dropping one into the middle of us." He chuckled with good-natured humor. "I would wager _that's_ not in the Marine Corps Manual."

Kate shared his laugh.

"I'm sure it's not."

"Don't worry about it," Bob said. "What Lard doesn't know won't hurt him."

She suspected the 214 used this line of reasoning when it came to a lot of things.

 **XXX**

Kate had just started printing photos that evening when someone knocked on the darkroom door. Lost in the familiar routine, she jumped. At least whoever it was had bothered to knock. She'd hung up a very large sign to that effect but wasn't under any illusion the Black Sheep spent much time obeying signs. From what she'd seen so far, telling them to do something practically guaranteed they wouldn't do it.

With a pair of tongs, she lifted a developed photo out of the tray of fix and slid it into a water bath.

"Come in."

Bob said he would come back after supper to help her print photos. Unable to control her enthusiasm for her new set-up, she started without him. Behind her, the door opened and closed. Intent on framing the next negative in the enlarger, she didn't turn around. The door clicked shut and the blackout curtain slid closed. Kate flipped off the overhead bulb and the room was bathed in red light.

"Hey, darlin'."

She startled. Not Bob. Jim.

"Hey. What happened to Anderson?" She checked the timer on the enlarger. A few more seconds. Done. She unclipped the exposed paper and slid it into the tray of developer.

"His little nurse is off duty tonight so I told him I'd take one for the team and help you."

"I sure Bob appreciates your sacrifice," Kate said drily. "Didn't you have any rats to catch tonight?"

He chuckled. She tipped the tray back and forth, watching the image forming on the paper. It was a night shot of mechanics working on the planes. The exposure was good and she allowed herself a victorious smile. Shooting at night was tricky and that shot was important to her first story. She rinsed the photo and transferred it to the tray of stop bath.

Jim leaned against the wall, watching her.

"Your man don't have a problem with you living with a bunch of Marines on the front end of the war? Could be dangerous."

His bluntness caught her off guard. She wasn't sure if he meant the war zone was dangerous or the Marines. She decided to address the obvious issue at hand.

"My man?"

"Yeah. I figure a girl who looks like you got a man waitin' for her somewhere. He must really trust you, lettin' you come all the way out here."

He was trolling for information and Kate knew it.

"You're nosy," she said, unable to decide if she was annoyed or amused. He was the first one of the men to ask her point blank if she was involved with someone.

"Might be, but that don't answer my question."

"My personal life is none of your business," she said, "but no, there isn't anyone waiting anywhere." She looked up at him. "Happy now?"

"It's a start." The smile on his face should have been a warning but Kate was too focused on what she was doing to pay attention.

"A girl out here by herself could use a man to look out for her," he said.

"I've been a lot of places by myself without a man looking out for me. You're out of line, Captain," she said mildly, trying to derail the topic before he pushed it further. She needed a man like she needed a hole in the head.

Jim stepped up behind her and looked over her shoulder. He was close enough she could feel the heat from his body. He was tall and his rangy build filled the small space.

"What would you like me to do?"

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. He'd dropped it. She carefully stepped over his feet, and clipped another sheet of photo paper in the enlarger. He moved with her. She positioned the negative and set the timer, then moved sideways to put the first print into a water bath. She was so used to working by herself, having help was almost awkward.

"In just a minute you can –"

Warm hands circled her waist.

"I think I owe you an apology for last night." Jim's voice was close to her ear. "Maybe we should start over."

Kate stiffened in the embrace. Her senses rocketed to high alert. His breath was warm against her neck, lips almost but not quite touching the skin.

"What are you doing?"

"If I have to explain, it's been too long."

"Take your hands off me," she said, keeping her voice steady even as her heart rate accelerated.

He didn't. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. A tangled jolt of adrenaline and arousal shot through her, surprising in its intensity.

"Or what, darlin'?"

"I am not your darlin'."

"You could be. How long's it been since you've been kissed?"

His mouth was brushing her ear now, then the nape of her neck. She struggled to get a grip on her senses. _Girls don't tell him no._ Dee's words echoed in her head. Yeah, and she could tell why. His lips and hands were moving with a degree of skill she hadn't anticipated. She felt her body responding in complete opposition to her mind.

The timer on the enlarger buzzed. Jim didn't stop her as she reached to unfasten the paper and drop it into the tray of developer. He didn't take his hands off her, either.

When she let go of the photograph, he slid his hands up her arms and spun her to face him, pinning her against the wall, his face inches from hers.

"Let go of me," she protested. "I am not –"

His kiss silenced her. For a few stunned seconds, Kate let the pleasure of the embrace wash over her, returning it more from reflex than desire. Jim's mouth brought carefully locked away feelings cascading through her in a hot flood. Then her mind slammed back into control.

"No." She pulled away. "I mean it - stop."

"That didn't feel like no to me." His lips grazed hers again, then nuzzled her throat.

She wrenched free and shoved him backward with both hands.

"I said no." She pointed to the door. "Get out."

"I figured you'd play hard to get." His voice was lazy, his smile self-assured. "A girl as gorgeous as you is probably used to being able to take her pick."

"I'm not playing at anything." Fury was rising through her now. "Get. Out."

Jim shrugged.

"You don't know what you're missing."

"I'm pretty sure I do. Not my first rodeo, remember?"

"I'm good for a lot more than eight seconds."

"What part of no don't you understand?"

"I'll give you some time to think about it. You know where my tent is."

"Don't wait up on my account." Her voice was strong now but her knees were trembling. How _dare_ he think she'd fall into his bed after one kiss.

Jim let his eyes travel slowly up and down her figure. When she picked up a steel film canister and drew her arm back, he grinned and let himself out of the darkroom.

 **XXX**

Greg and Casey were the Sheep Pen's only occupants, working out the logistics of trading Scotch to the Seabees on Rendova in exchange for a generator that could be traded to the Army Engineering Corps at Henderson Field for a crate of new carburetors.

They looked up when the darkroom door opened and Jim exited. He walked out of the room, singing, "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss." His agreeable tenor faded into the night.

Greg wondered what the hell his executive officer had done this time. He'd known Jim long enough to have a pretty good idea.

 **XXX**

Inside the darkroom, Kate braced her hands on the work bench and took a deep breath. The sharp tang of photo chemicals did nothing to clear her spinning head.

Forget the sign, she should have put a lock on the damn door. And refused any offers of alleged help from men who didn't know an F-stop from a kick in the pants.

Jim had caught her completely off balance in spite of Dee's warning. The next time someone told her not to turn her back on the Black Sheep, she'd take them literally. He hadn't pushed it when she refused him and she hadn't been afraid, even though with his height and weight advantage he could have easily overpowered her in the small room. Her turmoil wasn't from any lingering fear. Instead, she was seething at his assumption she'd say yes without a second thought. Damnit – did men really think a single kiss would make a girl fall into their arms? That might have worked six months ago but not anymore.

She enjoyed male companionship as much as the next girl but it wasn't like she could just walk away from a one-night stand on La Cava. It was an island, for heaven's sake. There wasn't anywhere else to go. One night – or anything beyond it – was unthinkable when she had to work with the whole lot of them every day. Waking up in any of their beds would create a whole lot of awkward. Besides, she was _not_ looking for a relationship. Not short term, not long term. Not here. Just no.

Besides, she'd come here to get away from the whole tangled mess of a relationship that had crumbled like a sand castle in the tide in the first place. In England, her off-base housing had at least offered the illusion of privacy. She didn't even have that here. This place was like living in a fishbowl and she didn't care to put her emotions on display.

She took a deep breath and willed her heart to stop pounding. It didn't work. When she relived that searing kiss, it wasn't Jim's mouth she felt or his body she imagined pressing against hers.

 **XXX**

 _What the hell? Seriously? What the hell? I should have seen it coming. I mean, they'd been flirting with me non-stop since I landed here. It was only a matter of time before one of them did something about it. Jim Gutterman was one of those guys who never took no for an answer and he'd probably keep asking until the answer was yes. Only it was never going to be yes and he needed to get that through his thick head. And Greg Boyington had no business sliding into my imagination like that. He was attractive enough already and that had trouble written all over it. - KCC_

 **XXX**

"He wasn't in there very long," Casey observed. "I'd guess she flamed him again."

"I'd guess he deserved it," Greg said.

He was used to watching Jim make passes at any available skirt. It was kind of a hobby for most of them, himself included, and his exec had a fairly high success rate with the opposite sex. Greg had known the minute Kate stepped out of that plane that his men wouldn't leave her alone and Jim would probably be leading the pack.

This was just the beginning. If it wasn't Jim, it would be TJ or one of the other boys. Living with the Black Sheep made her available 24/7, whether she liked it or not. While it was clear she liked interacting with the men, Greg noticed she kept it on a professional level, politely discouraging the suggestions of walks on the beach or invitations to stop by a tent for an after-hours drink. She was an incredibly social creature but only in group settings. She shied away from any kind of one-on-one attention. In hindsight, he wondered why she'd ever let him into her tent last night.

He studied the dark room door. He supposed it was his job to go smooth things over before she took matters into her own hands and did something drastic. From what he'd seen of her so far, that didn't seem to be out of the realm of possibility.

He got up and knocked on the door.

"Come in." It was a snarl, not an invitation.

He stepped inside, closing the door and pulling the curtain behind him. Kate glanced over her shoulder at him, then flipped the red light back on with a little more force than was necessary. She clipped a sheet of undeveloped paper onto the base of the enlarger and turned the timer to expose the negative.

"What the hell do you want?"

Greg could feel the anger sparking off her. He didn't have to ask what had happened. It was clear Jim had crossed the line in the sand that separated casual flirting from something more intimate. He raised his palms in a gesture of peace, staying as far away from her as he could in the small room.

"Take it easy on my pilots Cameron. They have a war to fight in the morning."

"Then maybe one of them needs to think a little more about the war and a little less about me." Her voice was clipped.

He chuckled. On a base where female companionship was a highly prized commodity, it was going to take more than wearing androgynous clothing to keep the boys from thinking about her. The simple fact of her existence put her directly in their sights and it wasn't like she was hard on the eyes.

"You think it's funny?" She rounded on him, only a few feet away in the semi-darkness.

No, he realized with sudden clarity, he _didn't_ think it was funny. He would prefer Jim kept his hands off her, too, and for reasons that had nothing to do with explaining to Colonel Lard why one of his boys was up on harassment charges. Again.

"I'll have a talk with him," he offered. Like that would do any good but he felt obligated to offer some sort of truce flag.

"Don't waste your time." Kate released the exposed paper and slipped it into the developer. "We both know he's not going to listen. Here. Make yourself useful." She handed him a pair of metal tongs. "Once this image comes up, rinse it and drop it into the fix." She pointed at an adjoining tray and turned back to the enlarger to pin down another blank sheet.

Greg watched her, still keeping his distance. It was easier said than done in a room that size. She was economy of motion wrapped up in a tight ball of fury and the combination was not unattractive.

In deference to the evening's warmth, she was wearing cut-off fatigues and an oversized T-shirt, knotted at one side of her waist. Her ability to make the most commonplace clothing attractive was uncanny. She'd twisted her hair up into a knot on the back of her head and that graceful stretch of exposed neck was rigid with temper. The red glow of the bulb brought the planes of her face into relief, accenting the sweep of dark lashes and generous curve of her lower lip. He totally understood what had compelled Jim to step across that line but he wouldn't have touched her right now on a bet. To make his point clear, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, staying out of her way while she worked.

He wondered, not for the first time, if she had someone waiting for her to come home from this war, a boy serving in another unit or a lover back in the States. The first night she was here, she'd said the only family she had was a sister in California.

As if she felt him studying her, she slanted a sideways glance, her hands moving over the equipment with practiced efficiency. He held her eyes, saw them soften slightly, loosing some of their feral look.

"You know these boys will back off if you tell them no." The Black Sheep could come on strong but none of them would force a girl to do anything against her will. He'd driven home the consequences of that point in one of the few conduct lectures he'd felt compelled to give in the squadron's early days. If he ever got word of any non-consensual activity between the men and the nurses, the perpetrator would answer to him. That had been an effective deterrent, although for all their bluff and bravado, the men respected the girls' limits. Not that they had many of them, he thought in hindsight.

"Some of them clearly don't expect to be told no."

Yeah, that would be Jim. Greg decided not to push his luck on the topic of her honor and turned his attention to the photo floating in the tray. He hadn't really looked at it before. It was a tightly framed shot of himself standing in front of his bird when he'd been talking to Hutch after the morning's mission. She'd caught him turned three-quarters toward the camera, hair sweaty and windblown, face taut with fatigue.

She looked over her shoulder as he transferred the print into the tray of fix.

"That one turned out well," she said noncommittally, but he saw a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and some of the tension had relaxed from her shoulders.

He looked at the other prints laid out to dry. There was one of TJ, jumping out of the cockpit while mechanics sprayed chemical suppressant on the flames licking at his bird's engine cowling. Don, a look of irritation on his face as he watched his plane being towed back to the flight line. Meatball, running out to greet the men.

The girl had a good eye. And she managed remarkably well to stay out of the way. He hadn't been aware she was anywhere close when these pictures were taken.

He picked up the final print. It was of him, Casey and Jim side by side, walking away from the camera. It was clear what the focus was. Yeah. She had a good eye all right and a sense of humor. He swallowed a grin but not quickly enough. She caught him.

"What?" She pulled the print out of his hand and looked at it, breaking into a self-satisfied grin. "The camera likes what it likes," she said unapologetically. Then, struggling to sound stern, "Don't you dare judge me. If that was a picture of three nurses' backsides in shorts you'd think it was just fine."

Flight suits were never meant to be attractive garments but her camera had caught the men in mid-stride, the fabric pulling taut across their hips, accenting the curve of muscle and sinew beneath, especially his, he thought a little uncomfortably.

He was aware of her watching him, trying not to smile as she saw him react to the photo.

"I meant what I said." Her voice was soft, the anger faded now. "I'm here to do a job, not to entertain your boys. I like Jim just fine but I'm not on this island to fall into his bed whenever he feels like it."

Greg saw the opening and took it. If he couldn't get the information out of her when she was half lit on whisky, maybe he could get somewhere when she was sober.

"So what made you take this assignment clear out here?"

"I'd been in England long enough." Her voice was carefully neutral. "It was time to move on. I wanted to go someplace new."

"I'd say you succeeded. This is about as far away from England as you can get."

Silence. She fiddled with the box of photo paper, sealing it carefully. The room was warm and he could smell the scent of soap wafting off her skin.

"What was his name?"

"Who?" She turned toward him, emotion flickering across her face like shadows in firelight.

"The guy who broke your heart. Sweetheart, you didn't just leave England, you left the whole northern hemisphere." This was absolutely none of his business and he knew it. He half expected her to blow up like an incendiary but for the first time, he wondered if maybe her placement with the 214 really _didn't_ have anything to do with Lard's agenda to discredit the unit. Finding out was worth the risk.

Kate didn't say anything. She rinsed the last of the photos and set them to dry. Switching off the enlarger, she tidied away the negatives and flipped the light back on. Her face was a mix of betrayal and an old, carefully guarded ache.

"Andrew." Her voice held no bitterness, just the ghost of something that had been scattered to the wind, gone but not quite forgotten. "Lieutenant Andrew William Butler of the 359th Fighter Group. Matinee idol good looks. God, he was a handsome man. American ace. Every girl's dream and I was that lucky girl."

Greg didn't say anything.

"I'd just left London after the Blitz and was assigned to the RAF base at Mildenhall. We met at a pub. He bought me a drink, one thing led to another, next thing, we're having dinner together a couple of nights a week and going dancing at the officers' club. I had a room in a boarding house near the base and a landlady who looked the other way because we were so in love. It was . . . _convenient_ . . . ," she spat out the word, " _I_ was convenient for him.

"He made the war bearable. I loved my job but I was alone so much, living by myself, working all the time, insane hours, deadlines that never ended. He gave me an escape, for just a few hours here and there – candlelight and dancing and pretending Hitler wasn't trying to kill us." Her jaw clenched. "I never saw it coming. I never suspected it."

She stopped abruptly, turned to face him.

"He was married. He had a wife and a little boy back in Illinois." Her voice was barely audible now, eyes fixed on a distant spot Greg knew wasn't anywhere in the South Pacific. He could see the fury rising in her again, an almost palpable aura swirling around her. She met his eyes, defiant. "I am too sober to talk about this."

Yanking the door open, she marched out of the room. Casey was gone. The Sheep Pen was uncharacteristically deserted. She leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle.

"It was months before I found out. One of the men in his unit finally told me. I guess he thought I should know before I made an even bigger spectacle of myself. I wasn't the only one. Andy liked to share his charms."

She wrenched the cork out, looked for a glass and finding none readily at hand, drank straight from the bottle. She was good at that, Greg thought. He admired anyone who appreciated good Scotch and she appreciated it with enthusiasm. She was still radiating emotion but he preferred this dry-eyed fury over crying. He never knew what to do with women who dissolved in helpless tears, although helpless was the last word he'd apply to her. The logical thing with any other girl would be to pull her into his arms and take her mind off it but he was no fool. There might be a time and a place for that but this wasn't it.

"He didn't wear a wedding ring. I never saw any photos of her or the baby in his quarters, like the other men had of their wives or sweethearts. He told me he loved me and like an idiot I believed him. We were in the middle of a war - I didn't expect him to marry me. But damn it!" She set the bottle down. "I never intended to sleep with another woman's husband, either. It bothered me a whole lot more than it bothered him."

Her eyes were storm clouds, dark and angry.

"I've lived through blackouts and air raids and Hitler's damned Luftwaffe dropping bombs on my head. I've put up with rationing and restrictions and flying all over the world in airplanes that scare me half to death, but I will _not_ be used at anyone's convenience and I will _not_ be lied to."

She drank again, showing no indication of sharing the bottle. Greg didn't suggest otherwise.

"So I bailed out. Got reassigned and moved up the coast to Catterick, then Edinburgh. Never saw him again. When this opportunity came up, I jumped at it. I needed to be somewhere different."

Greg said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Jim's not married."

Kate stared at him, blinked, then burst into laughter.

"He still needs to keep his hands off me."

Greg found this declaration oddly encouraging. It would be easier to deal with her if she wasn't hooking up with one of his men. Yeah. Like that was the only reason he didn't want to see her involved with any of them.

The color was still high in her cheeks but her eyes had softened. She set the bottle down and sank into a chair, tipping her head back.

"Men! You're nothing but trouble!" she said to the ceiling. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"I assume that's a rhetorical question, sweetheart, and I'd be careful who you asked." He sat down next to her, taking the bottle and chancing a drink. "Around here, you might not like the answer."

She rubbed her forehead, held out her hand, still laughing.

"Give me the bottle back. You make me drink too much, the whole lot of you."

Greg pushed it across the table. He thought any girl who was willing to live with the Black Sheep deserved hazardous duty pay.

 **XXX**

 _After Andy, there'd been a couple of fly-by-night relationships that had never been meant to last. A good time in the dark, nothing more, nothing less, although anyone who's ever said that knows it's never that simple. When I took the posting to La Cava, I decided it was time to keep men at arm's length for a while. I'd just go about my business and they'd go about theirs and it would be better for everyone that way. I hadn't realized how hard the Black Sheep were going to make that. One of them in particular. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Three hours later, when he hadn't seen Greg go back to his tent, Casey thought he'd be the responsible party and check on things. He wasn't sure what Greg had walked into after Jim left the darkroom and truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was going to check on Greg or check on Kate. Maybe he was just sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, but Dee would want a full report the next time he saw her.

It was nearing midnight now, and the base was quiet. He could hear fragments of conversation drifting on the night air as he approached the Sheep Pen.

"- dive from 10,000 feet to a dead-stick landing on a Japanese-occupied island –"

"- didn't you think anyone would notice?"

Low laughter.

"Sometimes you just get lucky."

"I think you get luckier than most."

Pausing on the steps, Casey looked through the door. Greg and Kate were sitting at a table under the room's lone light, a bottle between them. They were intent on a conversation punctuated by hand gestures clearly meant to mimic a Corsair engaged in a dogfight.

Kate's right hand was extended over the table. Greg reached over and took her wrist. Shaking his head, he adjusted the angle, then raised his own left hand and repeated it. She nodded, her fingers bearing down toward his as his hand shot under hers.

Aerial combat techniques.

Casey rolled his eyes. They were all Section 8 – Jim, for thinking he was irresistible to every woman he met; Greg, for having a girl like Kate alone with him in a dark room and spending the time explaining aerial warfare, or Kate, for putting up with all of them in the first place.

Quietly, he backed down the steps and left.

 **XXX**

 _We sat there, drinking and telling war stories, and two things kept running through my mind - that just maybe Lard really hadn't sent her out here and that she didn't intend to give any of the boys the time of day beyond a little flirting. She was creating chaos in my life in ways I hadn't imagined and one thing was clear, I needed to find out more about her. In the meantime, maybe it wouldn't hurt to turn on the charm a little to see if she'd open up some more. Yeah, charm takes time to work but it didn't look like she was going anywhere. – GB_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: A line in the sand**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 **0400 hours**

"Oh, Katie! Time to wake up!"

A cheerful voice pulled Kate out of a dream where she was chasing her typewriter down the beach. It didn't have any visible legs but was outrunning her nonetheless. She opened her eyes. Casey was standing in the door of her tent, a kerosene lantern in one hand, a steaming mug of coffee in the other. Behind him, the sky was still dark.

"What?" she croaked, groggy with sleep, then managed to string two words together. "Come in." She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bunk, shoving at her nightshirt which was rucked up around her hips. Unlike the other boys who would have ogled her nearly bare lower half without apology, Casey kept his eyes on her face. He was so polite and thoughtful she had a hard time believing some of the things Dee told her about him. Well, a man who was that thoughtful would make an excellent lover, she supposed.

"Fleet intercepted a message from the Japanese base on Choiseul. They've launched a flattop headed this way and we're scrambling to intercept and take it out." Casey handed her the mug. She took it without question, as if being awoken before dawn and handed coffee by a man wearing a flight suit and a sidearm were an everyday occurrence. "Greg asked me to wake you, he thought you'd want to sit in on the briefing since it's different than anything we've done since you've been here."

Oh he did? That was considerate of him. The man never ceased to surprise her. Over the last few days, his initial cool reserve had thawed although she wasn't really sure where she stood with him. Being around him was like walking on constantly shifting footing, one misstep and she could still find herself on the wrong side of things in a hurry. She was under no illusion of where she ranked in the hierarchy of the base – the preservation of the squadron outranked anything she could offer on any level.

She yawned. "What time is it?" It felt like she'd fallen asleep only minutes ago. It had been well past midnight when she and Greg left the Sheep Pen.

"0400. Briefing in 10, see you there." Casey turned to leave.

"Thanks for the coffee."

"Greg's idea."

This was almost more thoughtfulness than she could stand. Kate took a long sip and set the mug down. The strong liquid chased away any lingering Scotch fog. She stretched.

"All right. I'll be there in a minute."

Casey laughed. His blue eyes were sparkling, his pale hair tousled.

"What?" she said, suspicious.

"If you showed up at the briefing in that -" he gestured to her rumpled shirt, "- I think the guys would wake up a lot faster." She narrowed her eyes at him and he left, still chuckling.

He was just as bad as the rest of them. She believed everything Dee said about him.

Kate dressed in the dark, grabbed her camera and notebook, along with the coffee mug, and headed for ops. For the first time, Greg had voluntarily included her in the unit's operation. Not an order to stay out of the way but an invitation to be part of it. Would miracles never cease?

 **XXX**

The scent of coffee and the sound of yawning and grumbling filled the ops shack as men gathered for the briefing. Kate perched atop a desk along the wall. She framed a few shots of the men chatting, joking, looking serious, then began taking notes. It was a lot easier to record impressions of the squadron's daily life when she was invited to be part of it. Greg really hadn't been obligated to include her this morning. She was sure he had enough on his mind already. The missions she'd encountered so far had been carefully scripted and carried out with an attitude that bordered noncholance. This was much more spur-of-the-moment and the atmosphere was charged with adrenaline.

"Thanks for the wake-up call," she said as Greg brushed by her.

"Thought you might like to join us." His blue-eyed smile showed no lingering effect from either the previous night's late hour or level of Scotch consumption. How did he _do_ that, she wondered.

"Hey, Greg! Got a minute?" Jerry Bragg called from the front of the room and Greg turned away. Kate watched him go. If she'd gotten up this early, she might as well enjoy the view.

Jim spotted her and ambled in her direction. His flight suit was half unzipped, the collar askew. Like the rest of the men, he looked like he'd just rolled out of the rack. He followed her gaze, then chuckled.

"You're up early this morning, darlin'. Did you get your darkroom work finished last night?"

"I did, thanks for asking." If any of the nearby men noticed her cool tone, they didn't let on. She lowered her voice. "And I am _not_ your darling."

"You still could be, unless you got your sights set on something else." He cast a meaningful glance toward Greg, who was scribbling calculations while Casey read coordinates from a map on the wall.

"I don't have my sights set on anything. Shouldn't you be thinking about the mission and not harassing me?"

"Don't say I never offered. Heard Greg gave you hand last night. You do like your men a little older, don't you?" He didn't act offended by her rejection and seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

"Shut up," she hissed. "I have a job to do and so do you."

"Listen up!" Greg called and the men shuffled into attentiveness, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

Twenty minutes later, 16 Corsairs lifted into the pearl gray pre-dawn sky.

"Only 16?" Kate asked, standing next to Hutch and Micklin. "I thought a full squadron was 20."

"It is but he's only got 16 that'll make it off the end of the runway," Micklin said, chomping his ever-present cigar. "And I ain't sure all of them will make it back."

"They'll do fine," Hutch said firmly, although Kate thought she could hear more than a hint of worry in his voice. He turned to her. "Pappy's gotta keep 16 birds in the air to maintain the squadron's active status. You better believe someone along the line will be counting and report back to Lard."

"What if he can't?" From what she'd seen of the Corsairs so far, it seemed like about half of them were one stiff wind away from the bone yard.

"That hasn't happened yet," Hutch said. "At least not lately. He'd get 16 birds in the air if he had to push them to the end of the runway himself."

Kate pulled her notebook out of her pocket and added a few more lines, then she smothered a yawn and returned to her tent. She kicked off her boots and toppled onto her bunk. In spite of the coffee, she slept soundly until the roar of engines heralded the return of all 16 planes. The Japanese flattop had been reduced to scrap metal sinking slowly to the bottom of the Slot.

 **XXX**

 **Later that afternoon, in the Sheep Pen**

Greg topped off his drink and passed the bottle to Jim. Jim up-ended it into his glass and handed the empty to Casey with a shrug. Casey made a face and got up from the table to get another one.

"Is the press corps office for the Southwest Pacific still on Espritos?" Greg asked.

"No," Casey called from behind the bar. "The building took a direct hit during the air raids last month. They moved it to Rendova temporarily and I think it's still there."

Greg swirled his glass. It was time to get to the bottom of things.

"Casey, you've got connections over there, check around and see what you can find out about Cameron. For God's sake, don't let Lard get wind of what you're doing but I want to know who invited her to this party."

"Sure thing, I'll get on it." Casey grinned. "And I'll see if I can get Dee to spill anything. Those two are thick as thieves. If Kate has any secrets, Dee's bound to know them."

"You still think she's here on Lard's orders?" Jim mused.

"I _know_ she's here on Lard's orders. I'm just not sure if she's here on his agenda." Greg contemplated his drink. "She told me a few things last night that made me think she just wanted to start over someplace with a clean slate."

"Yeah. She told me a few things last night, too," Jim said. "They weren't what I was hoping to hear."

Greg laughed at the look on his exec's face.

"I think you were lucky to get out of there without having your butt handed to you in a sling."

"Yeah, I got the impression I may have overstayed my welcome." Jim threw back the rest of his drink and stood. "I hear she liked your company just fine."

Gossip traveled quickly among the Black Sheep and it hadn't gone unnoticed that Kate had effectively shut down Jim's advances, then sat up half the night with Greg, sharing a bottle.

"I don't know if she liked my company or if she's just working me for her story." Greg leaned back in his chair. He and Kate had talked about a lot of things that didn't have anything to do with gathering information for a newspaper story.

"Are you thinking . . . ?" Jim left the question open ended but the grin on his face said it all.

Greg didn't answer right away. It was one of the few times in his life he didn't know what he was thinking. She was press corps, for God's sake, and he still wasn't convinced she wasn't here to do a hatchet job on the Black Sheep. But she intrigued him on a level that went beyond those legs and that smile.

"I'm not thinking anything until I get a few more facts," he said finally.

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

 **Nurses' quarters, Naval Hospital, Vella La Cava**

"How are the Black Sheep these days?"

Dee snugged the torn ends of fabric together and drew a needle and thread through a rip in one of Kate's white work shirts. Kate had come to visit her and use her shower. She had not worked up the courage to use the squadron's outdoor showers yet, even though it would have been more convenient than driving to the hospital every day. The boys reminded her of this regularly.

She appreciated the daily escapes from the testosterone poisoning that occasionally became overwhelming on the base and didn't mind making the drive to the nurses' quarters. She had made friends with several of the other girls once they decided she had no intention of stealing their boys. It was nice to enjoy female company where conversations didn't ricochet from air-to-air tactics to the size and shape of girl's breasts. For the most part, the Black Sheep had given up any pretense of censoring their conversations when she was around.

"They're fine," Kate said, using scissors to amputate both sleeves from another damaged shirt. Long sleeves in this climate were overrated. Outside, rain beat a steady tattoo on the roof and windows.

"In general? Or is any one of them finer than the others?" Dee's teasing smile indicated she knew more than she was letting on.

Kate put down the scissors and stared at her. "How do you do that? You work at the opposite end of the island, how do you know what happens at the base?"

"Honey, I can get Casey to tell me everything that goes on there. Every. Thing." She grinned. "Sounds like you're getting to know a couple of them pretty well."

"I'm getting to know all of them," Kate said slowly. "What exactly did Casey tell you?" She was a firm believer in getting one's facts straight. She was familiar enough with the transmission of gossip on military bases to know that Jim's stolen kiss in the darkroom may have been magnified into God-knew-what by the time it reached her friend's ears.

Dee didn't answer directly.

"Sounds like their initial bet - the one about you leaving - is off the table. It's been more than a week and you're still here, so they figure you're going to stick. Which means the second bet is going strong even though you seem to possess an unnatural resistance to Black Sheep charm. They're disappointed you spend your nights in your own tent. Alone." Dee's grin broadened. "Casey tells me you're getting along well with Greg."

"Define _well_." Kate closed her eyes and let images from the last week wash over her. Greg, trying not to laugh as he picked her up out of the dirt her first night on the base. Blue eyes in a face that took her breath away. Landing the punch that started the brawl in the Sheep Pen. Ordering her to leave his pilots alone. Straightening her wrist in an imitation of a diving Corsair, his fingers warm on her skin.

Yeah. She was getting along with him well enough. For now. She had no idea how he would react when her first story hit print. She hoped it wouldn't derail the fragile sense of camaraderie that had started to form between them.

"He said he'd talk to Jim . . . about . . . you know . . . but I told him not to waste his time," Kate said. "It really wasn't a big deal." _Liar_. She'd replayed that kiss a hundred times in her mind and the replay did not involve Jim Gutterman.

Dee finished a neat row of stitches and snipped off the thread. She checked her handiwork and, satisfied, folded the shirt. Kate tossed her the shirt she'd just cut the sleeves off, the one ripped when she'd jumped out of the jeep. Dee eyed the tear critically and measured out another length of thread.

"If Greg tells Jim to leave you alone, he'll leave you alone. It's nice to know he's got your back," she said.

"I didn't say we were _that_ friendly." Kate switched subjects. "Casey's awfully sweet. The two of you are good together."

Dee smiled but switched the subject back.

"I bet you could be."

"Could be what?"

"Friendly. You and Greg."

"That isn't why I'm here," Kate said, then grimaced. That was starting to sound a little thin, even to her own ears.

"Don't give me that song and dance." Dee pointed her needle at Kate. "Of course you're here to do a job and you'll do it fabulously because you're K.C. Cameron. But who says you can't have some fun along the way? Relax a little, enjoy the local scenery."

"You're not living with the local scenery," Kate said. Privately, she thought her friend might change her mind if she were surrounded by Black Sheep 24 hours a day.

The men did not share their commanding officer's reserve about the press corps. They teased and flirted and tried to draw her into whatever they were doing, any time of the day or night. She'd given up any pretense of aloofness, not that she'd ever had much to start with. She played catch with baseballs and footballs and if they thought she threw like a girl, it didn't seem to bother them. She played passable chess with Anderson and talked newspapers with Don. She was good at throwing darts and horrible at playing poker. Greg had unapologetically taken her for every dime she put on the table the night before in spite of good cards falling her way.

"Your face is an open book, sweetheart," he'd said, raking the pile of cash toward him through a cloud of cigar smoke. Ha, she'd thought, and he said _she_ spent too much time watching body language.

"So tell me about what happened in the darkroom." Dee brought her back to the present. "It wouldn't hurt to let a man show you a good time once in a while. You can't think about work all the time."

Andrew William Butler's name was strictly forbidden but Kate knew exactly what Dee meant.

"I told you Jim had a reputation although I don't really see him as your type," Dee continued.

Kate snorted. "There was one kiss and I put a stop to it. And no, he's not my type, no matter what he thinks."

"Which one of them is your type?"

"Didn't you hear me when I said that's not what I'm here for? God, Dee, you're as bad as they are – I swear if they aren't flying or fighting or drinking, they're figuring out how to get laid next. Is there anyone else you want to warn me about?"

It was Dee's turn to snort, although it turned into a giggle.

"Why? You didn't listen to me the first time." She studied the mending with a professional eye. "So . . . after you and Jim . . . then you spent the rest of the night with Greg?"

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't like that!"

"Casey said the two of you looked pretty cozy in the Sheep Pen."

"Casey needs to keep his nose in his own business. And so do you." Kate laughed in spite of it. She loved Dee even though she was an inveterate match-maker. "We just talked. He tells the most incredible stories."

"I bet he does." Dee put a final stitch in the shirt, tied off the knot and tossed it on the pile of mended garments. "How are things going from a work standpoint? You can't be lacking for material."

"I'm sending my first packet out via courier tomorrow – story, photos, the whole works." Kate looked pensive.

"But?"

"This unit's had crap for press coverage since the beginning and I'm pretty sure Greg doesn't expect that to change now. Everything that's ever been written about the Black Sheep has cast them in a bad light. I get the feeling he's just waiting for me to drop the other shoe." Kate stood and started pacing.

"I mean, it's true, every single one of them was some kind of screw up before Greg got hold of them. I don't know if any of them even own a complete uniform, I've never seen them wear one. They all drink too much, they spend half their time trying to break into the nurses' quarters after hours and if one of them takes a swing at someone, they start making bets on who'll win, not trying to break it up. All of the bad press I've read about them is true."

She turned from the window.

"But put them up in the air and look what they do. They're practically unstoppable. It's crazy, what it takes to keep those planes flying and the supply line is getting cut to a trickle at Espritos because this Colonel Lard fellow has an agenda against Greg." She looked back out at the rain. "There are two sides to every story. No one's ever told theirs."

She collected her things.

"I'd better get back. I've got a couple hours of work to do yet. Thanks for doing my mending, you're a doll. I think I've gone two whole days without ruining anything."

Dee watched her friend leave and refrained from mentioning that since most of Kate's wardrobe was now in a continual state of disrepair, ruined was largely a matter of opinion. Heaven help the girl if she ever needed to dress up for anything. Dee caught herself. It was the 214. No one ever dressed up for anything.

 **XXX**

 **1500 hours, that same day**

The sheer monotony of the requisition forms should have driven everything else out of Greg's head. If Lard approved half the stuff he asked for it would be a miracle. He just hoped it would be the half that kept the Black Sheep in the air. Meatball was curled up on his bunk, snoring peacefully. The morning's mission had been scrubbed because of foul weather and the rain still hadn't let up. The steady drip of water both outside and inside the tent would normally have been relaxing but he had too much on his mind.

Mostly, he had Kate on his mind. In spite of what he'd told Jim, the girl occupied more of his thoughts than he cared to admit. She'd been on the base a little over a week, which was about five days longer than any of them thought she'd last. Girls with her looks usually had a low tolerance for a front area lifestyle. Kate defied that rule.

She never complained about the lousy food, the dirt, the heat or the rain. Eight days, one bar fight, a rat in her bed, six missions, a lot of Scotch, the incident with Jim and God knew how many other propositions and she was still here. And she seemed perfectly happy about it.

He was, too, but he wasn't broadcasting it. The night they'd sat in the Sheep Pen for hours, drinking and talking, he'd gotten no sense of a hidden agenda, just the forthright honesty and curiosity that marked her approach to life. They'd talked about the small town in North Dakota where she grew up, about flight school, journalism school, the Flying Tigers, the Blitz, General Moore, Colonel Lard, how to beat a Zero in a dogfight and what usually happened after he landed without clearance on Espritos.

When Lard assigned her to the 214, Greg had been prepared not to have any use for her. Of course, that had been when he thought she was a he. When he found out she was a she, he had been prepared not to like her anyway, on the general principle of what she represented.

He was having a little trouble maintaining that attitude.

She managed to be in the middle of everything but she was never in the way. She was a quick study and she asked questions. A lot of questions. If she didn't understand something, she kept asking questions until she did. She didn't mind the odd hours or the rough living conditions and she tossed the boys' endless pick-up lines back at them with an easy grace that left them scratching their heads. She managed a single-minded focus for her job no matter what was going on around her. Yesterday, he found her atop the engine cowling of Anderson's bird, handing tools to Hutch and scribbling notes at the same time.

After the first morning, he quit trying to restrict her access to the Black Sheep. It wouldn't have worked anyway. The pilots didn't leave her alone. She spent a lot of time on the flight line with Hutch and Micklin. Micklin even seemed to enjoy her company although his countenance resumed its normal scowl whenever Greg interrupted them. She developed the squadron's film and damned if their recon photos hadn't improved by about 200 percent. He could hear her typewriter rattling at all hours of the day and night.

And she had those stunningly gorgeous legs. The rest of her matched those legs, lithe and curvy at the same time. That generous smile. Those smoky eyes. The way she lowered her head and looked demurely out from under her lashes while saying something wicked.

The tent flap rustled and Casey came in, shaking off the rain and interrupting this pleasant, though unproductive, train of thought. Greg tossed his pencil onto the pile of requisition forms and pushed back from his desk.

The younger man held up a sheet of notes scribbled on yellow paper.

"I talked to Major McCallister on Rendova. He's the liaison between the press and the military in this theatre. He remembers cutting the papers to assign Kate here. Course, he didn't know K.C. was Kate and I didn't tell him. It sounds like she's telling the truth about how she got here. McCallister said K.C. was covering a base in Scotland when she, um, he heard about this posting and volunteered. It was total random chance that brought her here – the only thing Lard had to do with it was requesting a correspondent be assigned to us." He paused.

"Go on."

"I got some information out of Dee, too." He grinned, then looked a little self-conscious.

Greg grinned back.

"I'm sure you both enjoyed that."

"Dee told me Kate just wanted to get out of Europe because she was in a relationship there that ended badly. She also said Kate is the most objective writer she's ever known and she would never agree to write slanted stories so she can't possibly be on Lard's payroll."

"Of course Dee would say that, they're best friends." Greg rubbed his forehead. This didn't tell him much he didn't already know. If Lard ordered Cameron to take a specific approach to her coverage of the unit, it was unlikely she would announce it to the world. The question of her allegiance was still in the wind. "Thanks, Casey."

The younger man ducked out of the tent and sprinted off through the rain. Jim came in just as he left.

"So what's the plan? Are we still supposed to be, ah, encouraging her to leave?" Jim slouched into a chair. Rain dripped through the roof and hit him square on the cheek. He moved the chair sideways. "Don't seem to matter what we do, she don't show no signs of leavin'. It's been more than a week and I've already lost $30 on a bet she'd be gone by now. It don't look like I'm gonna be winning anything in that other bet, either. What's she still doin' here?"

"It can't be your charming personality," Greg chuckled. "I think she's made that clear."

"Crystal." Jim contemplated the rain dripping through the tent roof. Greg shoved a bucket at him. "I don't see her keeping company with anyone else either."

Greg didn't say anything. If Kate wanted to spend time with any of the boys on a more personal level, that was her choice. There were very few secrets at the 214. If she ended up in someone's bed – or on the beach or wherever was convenient – they'd all know about it soon enough, even if the winner of that particular bet managed to keep his mouth shut. Which knowing the Black Sheep wasn't likely.

"Wonder what she's writing about," Jim said idly. "I've seen the pictures, they're good, but it's the stories that got me worried. Don't suppose you get to take a gander and sign off on them before there's a couple hundred thousand copies in print?"

"You ever hear of the First Amendment?" Greg asked.

Jim hit the nail squarely on the head. Yes, he wanted to read whatever she wrote before it left La Cava and got splashed all over the stateside papers. But unless he wanted to force the issue, he wasn't in a position to start making demands. He thought he knew how well trying to force anything with Kate would go.

"Freedom of the press only goes so far in a war," Jim countered.

"You go right ahead and tell her that." There was no expectation that her news coverage would accommodate him or the 214 in any way. It was the one thing making him keep her at arm's length. He would like to have her a little closer - a lot closer - but he wasn't going to put his unit's welfare at risk for the sake of a little snuggling.

She was under absolutely no obligation to get his approval before filing her stories. The Office of War Information cleared all the correspondents' copy before it was printed in the papers back home but what concerned him was not likely to concern the Office of War Information censors.

It wasn't what you said. It was how you said it. He was sure Colonel Lard's intention in posting Kate here was the hope her coverage would discredit the whole unit, whether she knew that or not. Greg had no doubt she could do it without ever raising a censor's eyebrow if she wanted to.

"Might be you could use your influence so's you could read anything she writes." Jim tipped back in his chair to avoid another leak. It didn't work. The rain just hit him in a different place. Greg handed him a second bucket.

"What influence? Are you suggesting I pull rank on her? Lord, Jim, she's got as much trouble with authority figures as the rest of you. She's not gonna cut me any slack."

"I dunno about that. I've seen the way she watches you when she thinks nobody's looking." Jim shook his head. "Though I don't know what she'd want with an old man like you," he added, grinning.

Greg shook his head in negation.

"She doesn't want any part of me. I just come with the job. If she was looking for after hours company, she'd pick from younger pastures anyway. Drink?" He lifted the bottle on his desk.

Jim nodded.

"Hit me. In case you haven't noticed, she don't want any part of the rest of us, either. Believe me, I've offered her some very specific parts."

Greg chuckled as he poured out the whisky. He knew Jim well enough to know he wouldn't take Kate's continued rejection personally. Oddly, he'd never considered himself a contender in the Sheep's bet about who would take the girl to bed. He wouldn't deny his initial attraction but it had been overshadowed by the need to keep her from driving his squadron to distraction by her presence. Now those thoughts centered around keeping her from driving it to ruination in print. But damned if he wasn't spending a lot of time thinking about her in terms that had absolutely nothing to do with either one of those.

What was it she'd said to him that first night? Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway? Yeah. And now his mind was back on that.

"Whattaya suppose is holding her back?" Jim thought out loud. "Most of the single girls over here like a little one-on-one attention."

"She got burned by a guy in England," Greg said, getting up from his desk. "He turned out to be a family man but didn't bother to tell her and she'd fallen pretty hard when she found out. I don't think she's in a hurry to jump into anything, no matter how charmingly available you meatheads make yourselves." He shoved Meatball off his bunk and sprawled on his back, resting the whisky tumbler on his stomach.

"You sure know a lot about her," Jim said with a speculative look. "If I was spending as much time with her as you are, I'd be doing a little less talking, if you know what I mean."

"You haven't seen her throw me out of the darkroom, have you?" Greg's smile was angelic. It was the truth. Kate had started seeking him out when she needed an extra set of hands for processing film or printing photos. He noticed she made sure those hands were kept too busy to ever consider handling anything but negatives or prints.

"Smart ass," Jim said without heat. "If you ask me -"

"I didn't. You're the last one I'd ask about women."

"Maybe you should start. You ought to see if she'll let you read whatever she's written. Just ask her. What's the worst she can do?"

 **XXX**

 _What was the worst she could do? I knew members of the press weren't allowed to carry firearms. For some reason, I didn't find that very reassuring. - GB_

 **XXX**

Three hours after she got back from visiting Dee, Kate pulled the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter and jogged it neatly with the others on her desk. She scooped up the photos she'd selected, clipped them onto the copy and slid the whole works into a large folder. Her first story on this assignment was done. Outside, rain dripped steadily from her tent. She was grateful it was dripping off the roof, not through it. As she contemplated this, TJ dashed up.

"Hey, Katie." He ducked inside on a wave of rain-scented air.

"Hey. What brings you out?"

He grinned so good naturedly she couldn't help returning it even though she felt herself going on alert. That was the thing with these boys. They were so delightfully charming Kate always felt she should check to make sure she was still fully dressed when they left.

TJ glanced around. It had been pointed out several times that hers was the only tent on the base with a roof that didn't leak, which naturally made it the ideal place to store all the black market trade goods. TJ had another idea.

"I thought since I'm still bunking with Boyle and French and it's awfully crowded in there and their tent leaks everywhere, and yours doesn't leak at all and you've got room, maybe I could move in here with you."

"Get out."

"I don't snore, promise. And I'm tidy. You can ask Jim."

"Get out."

"I'll proofread your copy, help you with story ideas – "

"TJ!" Kate was laughing now. "You are not sleeping here!"

"You can't blame a guy for trying. Maybe I could – "

"Get out."

She returned his charming smile with one of her own, took him firmly by the elbow and pushed him back into the rain.

They never quit. Never. The only one who didn't seem to be actively trying to get her in a compromising position was the one who occupied her mind the most.

She stood in the doorway, watching rain drip from the overhanging canvas. The sense of peace that usually accompanied the wrap up of a story was missing. She only had one thing left to do before delivering the packet to the courier on the morning transport. She'd spent half the night and the better part of this morning arguing with herself about it and had finally decided ethics be damned. She was going to let Greg read the story before she sent it.

Not that he had pressured her about it. On the contrary, he had been perfectly willing to talk to her on the record and answer her endless questions as she gathered information over the last week. Once she actually began putting the story together, he kept his distance in regard to her work.

Not that he was keeping his distance in any other respect. He'd helped her with film in the darkroom when she asked. She liked working with him because she trusted him to keep his hands to himself. She was sure their occasional bumps and brushes in the small room were purely accidental. He smelled good, too – soap, shaving lotion and something that was just . . . him. It made it hard to concentrate on film.

But when push came to shove, she didn't know how he would receive her writing. She wasn't obligated to let him read anything she wrote. She knew it and she knew he knew it. If a reporter did their job and the story was an accurate reflection of the information they gathered, it didn't need to be vetted by anyone outside the newsroom.

It was an unwritten rule of journalism that you never let the source give final approval on a story. It destroyed objectivity. She knew everything she wrote would be subject to scrutiny by the Office of War Information and she'd chosen her words deliberately to avoid having her work cut to pieces by over-zealous censors.

Well, then, there was nothing for it. She wasn't seeking accolades, all she wanted was confirmation she'd gotten the facts right and understood everything correctly on this first piece. Well, on any piece, but especially this first one. She'd double and triple checked her notes and nearly driven Hutch and Micklin crazy with questions, but she didn't want to confirm Greg's impression that the press were incompetent idiots. As much as this place was a basket full of screwballs, she really didn't want to leave.

Tucking the folder under her poncho, she left her tent and sprinted through the rain.

 **XXX**

 _The Black Sheep were a bad influence on me. That was the only excuse I could come up with. I needed someone to blame for my decision to break the rules and I'd found one. I was going to drop it literally and figuratively in Greg Boyington's lap. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Greg was sprawled on his bunk, one hand clasped behind his head, when Meatball let out a happy woof and trotted to the doorway to greet Kate.

"Hey, got a minute?" she called.

"Come on in."

She tugged off the rain poncho and hung it to drip by the door. She bent to rub the terrier's ears, smiling as the dog thumped his tail. Greg lifted his glass in lazy acknowledgement.

"No, no, don't get up on my account," she said drily.

"Help yourself. Bottle's on the desk."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Kate glanced at Jim as she splashed whisky into a glass.

"I was just leaving." Jim stood and sauntered toward the door.

"Was it something I said?" Kate asked. Her eyes had gone innocently wide but Greg could hear the amusement in her voice. She shared the Black Sheep's approach that life was too short to hold grudges for minor improprieties.

"Yeah, darlin', it was." Jim fixed her with an appraising grin. "I believe the word you used was 'no.' Several times. Changed your mind yet?"

"No."

"See what I mean?"

Greg doubted Kate's refusal of Jim that night was the end of it. He'd watched Jim pursue girls who played hard to get before and getting turned down only seemed to increase his interest. Although he wouldn't characterize Kate as playing hard to get. She'd drawn a line in the sand and the message was clear - look but don't touch.

Jim disappeared out the door. Greg took her at her word and didn't get up. He waved at the empty chair. She looked at the chair and rain dripping into the bucket next to it and scowled. He laughed.

"My bunk is the only spot in this tent that doesn't have a leak above it." He slapped the canvas with one hand and shifted sideways. "You're welcome to join me."

He was out of line and he knew it, but it was worth it to see the color rise in her cheeks. She narrowed her eyes.

"You're as bad as Gutterman."

No, sweetheart, he thought, I'm worse because I have more patience.

She deliberately moved the chair away from both the drip and him and sat down.

"Suit yourself. What are you doing in the middle of this war, Cameron?" he asked. "Wouldn't you rather be working for a nice peaceful stateside newspaper? One with a roof that didn't leak?"

She propped her feet up on a wooden crate and sipped her drink. Meatball wormed his way onto her lap and laughing, she embraced the dog.

"Can you see me sitting behind a desk writing about skirt lengths and recipes?"

Greg's eyes wandered over her. Her nose was sunburned and peeling, her cheeks brushed with natural color. Her split lip had healed but she'd carry a tiny white scar there for the rest of her life. The wind and rain had loosened tendrils of her ponytail to frame her face. She was drinking whisky in the middle of the day on a front area Marine fighter base like she'd been born to it.

"No," he said. "I can't."

The canvas overhead shifted in the wind and a splatter of rain landed on Kate's shoulder. She made a frustrated noise and shifted the chair, Meatball and all, to the left.

"Sure you don't want to join me? There's room on here for both of us."

Kate tilted her head and then echoed his smile with one of her own. Greg saw the conflict playing across her face. For a second, he thought she was going to take him up on it. Sweet Jesus, what if she did? Instead, she set Meatball on the ground and stood up. There was an underlying restlessness about her this afternoon, the same kind of intense energy he saw in pilots before a mission, when their focus narrowed to a single definable goal and nothing else mattered.

"What's on your mind, Cameron?"

She drained her glass and picked a large folder up from the floor near the chair. She held it out.

"This is my first story. I want you to read it before I send it." She hesitated. "Tell me if anything needs to be corrected." Her eyes locked hard with his. When he didn't reach up to take the folder, she tossed it onto his stomach. "Please."

Swirling the slicker over her head, she walked back into the rain.

 **XXX**

 _I'd spent a week watching her work and wondering how badly it was going to turn out for us. Now it looked like I was going to find out, but her writing was the last thing on my mind. I kept thinking about that line in the sand and what she'd do if I crossed it. – GB_

 **XXX**

 _My knees were shaking when I left his tent. Partly because I was going to find out soon enough what he thought of my writing. Partly because when he looked at me that way, there was no telling what I'd agree to do and I wasn't ready for that, no matter what Dee thought. - KCC_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Two sides to every story**

 _"In seeking the truth, you have to get both sides of the story." Walter Cronkite, American journalist  
_

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Without moving off his bunk, Greg pulled Kate's story out of the folder and read it. Then he got up, sat at his desk and read it again. He'd been prepared to hate it, to find it inaccurate and slanted, to find Lard and his agenda to discredit the Black Sheep lurking behind every word. To find a reason to call Lard and tell him his pet journalist was nothing more than a waste of time with great legs.

But he couldn't.

She wrote like she lived – brisk and straight forward with that alluring self-confidence that played out even on paper. Her facts were dead on, the delivery powerful. His heart soared as he read. The story wasn't even about the Black Sheep, exactly. It centered on Hutch and Micklin and the other mechanics who kept putting the squadron back together, mission after mission.

She wrote about the insane hours they worked to keep the birds in the air, the chronic shortage of engine oil and replacement parts, about cannibalizing planes in the Corsair bone yard and rebuilding whatever couldn't be replaced. She wrote about the price tag that came even with successful missions and about those that had come near to ending in disaster, not because of the superiority of the Japanese pilots but because the American planes were held together with beer cans and baling wire. She wrote about the boys who hadn't come back because of it.

She quoted him from the conversation they had on the flight line the first day she was there, the day she noticed the beer can patches. _"I've lost more pilots to equipment failure than I have to the Japanese."_ She wove a delicate balance between exploring the fractured supply line to Vella La Cava and actually blaming it on snarled red tape at Espritos Marcos. Red tape that had been deliberately tangled by none other than Colonel Thomas Lard.

The sheaf of accompanying photos showed Hutch watching the squadron take off at dawn, exhausted pride in his eyes. Mechanics working late into the night under lights and scrambling to meet a crippled bird as it came in for landing. There was one of Micklin yelling at TJ nose to nose, another of the Black Sheep walking to their planes before a mission, looking grim. The story and photos captured the true essence of the 214.

She was walking the razor's edge with this, Greg thought. When it hit the stateside papers, he had no doubt a story about American pilots defying the odds would rally the war effort, which Lard would love. It would also make the 214 look ultimately patriotic, which would send Lard's ulcer into overdrive. Providing the story made it through the censors, it was going to raise all kinds of questions in Washington about why the squadron with the best kill record in the Southwest Pacific was struggling to get the supplies it needed to stay in the air. That was going to put Lard in the hot seat.

Greg chuckled. If Lard expected her to dish the dirt on the 214, she'd turned the tables on him with a degree of skill none of them had seen coming. This went far and beyond anything he had hoped for.

He sat, looking out at the rain for a few moments. This changed things. This changed a lot of things.

He gathered everything back into the folder and went to find Kate.

 **XXX**

Kate was in the Sheep Pen, playing chess with Bob Anderson and losing. Her concentration kept wavering and Bob was slaughtering her, much to his delight. A handful of other men were passing the rainy afternoon playing cards or doing quality control on the bar stock.

Greg slammed through the door and crossed to the table in three strides.

"Cameron!"

His voice cut through the fog in her mind. Her heart leaped into her throat as her head snapped up from the chessboard. She froze. Reaching the table, Greg pinned her with a blazing look and slapped the folder down in front of her. The chess pieces jumped on the board. She dared not breathe, her knuckles white on one of Anderson's rooks.

This was it. He'd either love it or hate it. If he hated it, she might as well start packing her bags because she had no doubt the man would make her life a living hell. If he loved it, well, she hadn't allowed herself to think about that.

Greg planted his hands on the table. His face was a mix of triumph, that intense blue gaze with a slight curve of his mouth pulling her under his spell without even trying. Around the room, the other men were watching them. The atmosphere had gone from sleepy to electric in a heartbeat. Anderson edged cautiously out of the way.

Greg jabbed the folder with a forefinger.

"You keep this up and I'll have to change my mind about the press corps. This is the best thing that's ever been written about the Black Sheep. Lard is going to have a fit!"

Kate's heart lurched back into rhythm as a dizzying rush of victory surged through her. She closed her eyes and drew what felt like her first real breath since she'd given him the story. He finally believed she wasn't here to hang the Black Sheep out to dry. She was vaguely aware of cheering. Someone produced a bottle. Whisky sloshed and Greg pressed a glass into her hand.

"To K.C. Cameron," he said, clinking his glass to hers. The men joined around, raising glasses and beer bottles.

"To the 214," Kate echoed, still light-headed with relief. What was _wrong_ with her? She wasn't a novice reporter, getting an editor's approval on her first story. She'd been emotionally invested in her coverage before but never like this. She was aware of Greg's eyes on hers, his gaze like a physical touch. She matched that look, a half-smile on her lips as the room swirled around her, letting his eyes draw her in until no one else existed.

 **XXX**

 _Something changed that afternoon and I think everyone in the room felt it. He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Me – as a woman, not as just a correspondent. Until then, I felt like he'd been deliberately keeping me at arm's length. Hadn't I been doing the same thing? Dee would say I had been. She would say a few other things, too. Now I got the feeling that restriction had been lifted and I wasn't sure what was going to happen next. – KCC_

 **XXX**

Story ideas fell into Kate's lap like ripe fruit. She kept her mouth shut and her ears open and the Black Sheep talked to her. They told her about the missions, the campaigns, the victories, the losses, the boys who hadn't come back in one piece and the boys who hadn't come back at all. Her editor in the states loved her first piece and cabled, "Great stuff, K.C. Keep it coming."

Her world revolved around new geography. Munda, New Georgia, San Mintos, the Solomon Slot, Pelateau, New Britain, Rabaul, Rendova, Bougainville - places she'd never heard of two weeks ago were now common topics of conversation. She sat in on the squadron's briefings and was on the flight line for the start of every mission, no matter the hour, returning the pilots' off-color banter. The throbbing roar of the Corsair engines sang in her blood as they lifted off. She was always waiting when they returned, counting planes with Hutch. She joined the pilots for debriefings and drank to their successes and sometimes to the achievement of just coming back alive.

She carried her camera everywhere, shot roll after roll of film and stayed out of the men's way. More or less. She wrote in her tent, under trees, in the mess, in the Sheep Pen and in jeeps parked wherever she happened to be. If she wasn't writing or shooting photos, she was swept into the daily flow of life around the base. Greg and Casey invited her into the convoluted trail of their black market operation. The amount of supplies and gear that was exchanged via clandestine arrangement was staggering. By tacit agreement, she did not write about that.

She knew who had slept with which nurse in the past and who was sleeping with who now and who was trying to sleep with who. Since it seemed like all the boys spent a great deal of time pursuing the nurses, Kate felt guardedly optimistic they had abandoned their absurd bet about who was going to sleep with her.

Greg was always there, sometimes just on the periphery of her life but more often, pulling her into the center of his with a drink, an invitation to a poker game - which never ended well for her - or suggesting story ideas, which did. Several times, she honestly thought her heart skipped a beat when she looked up and saw him watching her. She kept her mind tightly focused on her job. That's what she was there for, right?

 **XXX**

 **2100 hours**

Kate had turned changing clothes into an art form. She hadn't timed it, but figured she could strip down and re-dress completely in less than 45 seconds, give or take doing up all the buttons and tying her boots. It seemed safer not to linger even though she wasn't worried about the boys lurking outside her tent. After the night of the rat, they'd backed off on the funny stuff although it was still open season on verbal teasing. If they came to her tent with legitimate business, they were polite about knocking first. There had been a few close calls but in the grand scheme of things, she felt absurdly safe, surrounded by so many men.

It was full dark now and the day's heat and work had taken their toll. She'd stayed at Dee's longer than she'd intended after showering, enjoying a couple of beers with the girls. After a day of keeping up with the Black Sheep, she just wanted to tumble into bed. She shut off the overhead light and shimmied out of her shorts and shirt. She unhooked her bra and pulled it off, then, wearing only panties, reached for the night shirt draped over the foot of her bunk.

The charley horse hit her right leg with unexpected vengeance. She froze as the muscles in her calf clenched, twisting violently.

"Ow, ow, ow!" She stumbled, throwing out a hand to brace herself against the remaining crates stacked in the corner of her tent. Glass tinkled as Scotch bottles rattled against one another. She scrambled to regain her balance but her right leg refused to bear her weight as the muscles tied themselves in knots.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed, hopping around on one foot. She tried stretching her leg to loosen the cramp but that only made it worse. Any movement was excruciating. She nearly toppled over again, righted herself and took a deep breath. The muscles contracted, the intensity of the spasm jerking a gasp of pain from her lips. For the love of God, she thought, I've survived Hitler and the Luftwaffe and now I'm about to be done in by a leg cramp while I'm practically naked.

To make it worse, she could hear footsteps approaching outside.

 **XXX**

Greg was making his way back from the Sheep Pen when he heard the string of profanity from Kate's tent. He shook his head. The girl drank like a fish and swore like a sailor. He wondered what the boys had done this time. They might have abandoned their campaign to get rid of her but he knew they weren't above the occasional practical joke.

"Hey, Cameron, you all right?" He paused in the dark.

Silence. Then muffled scuffling but no answer.

"Seriously - are you all right?"

"Yes. Fine. No. Damnit!"

The pain in her voice was unmistakable. He covered the last few yards to her tent at a run and ducked through the door without breaking stride, then halted. The ambient light from the rest of the base barely reached this far. He couldn't see anything in the gloom.

"Don't turn the light on," she said through clenched teeth. He heard cloth being shaken out, accompanied by more swearing under her breath.

"Why not? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"Charley horse."

"Is that all? It sounded like you'd been shot."

"Nnnngggghhh, damnit!" she said again, and the word ended on a panting moan. "It feels like I've been shot. It won't quit."

"Can I put the light on?" he said, talking in the general direction of her voice.

"No!" She sounded a little panicky.

"Why not?"

"What do you need light for?"

"I like being able to see who I'm talking to. Unless that was your plan, to lure me in here in the dark and - "

"Fine. Put the damned light on, Boyington."

He fumbled briefly to locate the fixture, then pulled the chain and weak incandescent light flooded the tent.

Greg stared, momentarily stunned.

She was standing on one leg, gripping the edge of her desk with one hand, the other clutching the ends of a pale blue towel wrapped around her middle. It covered what it needed to. Barely. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a reckless tumble of damp curls and she was biting her lip. He took a deep breath. This wasn't what he'd expected. Not that he was complaining.

"It's that bad?"

She nodded.

"If I let go of the desk, I'll fall over aaagggghhh!"

"Here." He took a step toward her and saw her flinch. He stopped, lowering his hands like someone approaching a skittish horse. "I'll help you sit down before you fall and hit your head."

He stepped to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist. She let go of the desk and sagged against him, her arm around him in turn. The heat of her bare skin radiated through his shirt as she hobbled across the tent to her bunk. She smelled enticing, like soap and shampoo and that subtle nuance of scent he'd come to identify as just _her_. He let go a little more abruptly than he planned and she dropped without ceremony onto the cot. The towel fluttered appealingly. She adjusted it but he could tell it wasn't her first priority. Her face was still a mask of pain.

He took a purely selfish moment to admire the curve of her bare neck and shoulders. She had an interesting array of tan lines but the upper swell of exposed breast was enticingly pale. He paused briefly on the long expanse of those legs, then forced himself to collect his thoughts. Of all the units on all of the islands in all of this war, she had to walk into his.

"Do you have anything on under that?" He jerked a thumb at the towel.

Her eyes went wide.

"It's a towel! What do you think?" She glared at him, then grimaced as another cramp seized her.

He didn't ask permission, just knelt and took her leg in both hands. She jolted at his unexpected touch, but didn't resist. Within seconds, he found the hard knot in her calf. He focused on it, felt her muscles yield to the pressure of his fingers. He tried not to think about the sleek lines of her body or the scent of her skin, only inches away. Yeah, he wanted to get to know her better but this was a little abrupt, even for him. For God's sake, he was at eye level with her bare thighs, which were firmly clamped together. If she really didn't have anything on under that towel, they were going to get to know each other a lot better before this was over.

"Relax," he said, as much for his own sake as hers.

"Easy for you to say."

Oh, she had no idea.

She was still glaring at him but discomfort overcame the irritation on her face.

"Ugh, I feel like an idiot. I could get malaria out here or be shot in an air raid but I end up getting taken out by a leg cramp."

"You need to drink more," he said, hands working her calf with long, hard strokes. She regarded him with raised eyebrows.

"I don't think that's possible with you lot."

"Water, Cameron, water. In this heat, you can dehydrate without even knowing it and then this happens." He tickled her ankle and noted with satisfaction that she quivered but didn't pull away. "You haven't been here long enough to really adjust to this climate. You were running around the base all day keeping up with the guys and I'd bet you weren't drinking iced tea with the girls tonight."

She made a noncommittal noise. Now that the initial muscle spasms had eased, her breathing slowed a little. She was frighteningly composed, he thought, for a girl in her position. She was either too scared to move or she trusted him. He doubted it was the former. He had no idea about the latter.

He kept his eyes on her lower leg although it took every bit of self-control he had. The muscles were starting to loosen under his hands. She shifted, one hand tugging at the towel, and he glimpsed ivory silk as she moved her hips. Thank God, she was wearing panties. Not that it would have really mattered at this point, he thought. They'd achieved a level of familiarity in the last five minutes that transcended undergarments. If she meant to tell him to leave, she would have done it by now.

"Trust me," he said and without giving her a chance to reply, cupped her heel with one hand and gently stretched her leg upward. She yelped but didn't fight him as she tipped backward onto her elbows. She was too occupied trying to arrange the towel in some semblance of modesty. It wasn't working and he could tell she was quickly coming to that conclusion. A towel was never meant to be worn as a garment, especially when the person wearing it was practically flat on her back with one leg in the air.

She was limber and her leg flexed easily as he stretched it. He gave up trying to pretend he wasn't looking at the lovely expanse of exposed thigh. If she was offended, she'd just have to get over it. The fact she wasn't resisting made him think she wasn't that offended. Under his hands, her leg felt like he'd imagined it would, sleek and strong, delicate but not fragile. He hoped she had no idea how much time he spent thinking about her legs.

"Do you always sleep in a towel?" If he didn't keep a conversation going there was no telling where this was headed.

"What I sleep in is none of your business," she retorted. When he chuckled, she added, "I was changing clothes. This was the first thing I grabbed when you came in."

He lowered her leg. She sat up as he worked her calf from knee to ankle, fingers gentle now. The muscle was supple again, tension gone. There was no particular reason to keep massaging her leg. On the other hand, there was no particular reason to stop, either.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Her voice had regained its normal dry humor.

He let his eyes deliberately run up her leg, linger on her bare shoulders, then her face.

"Sweetheart, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." He was rewarded with a flush of color in her cheeks. Now that the pain had faded, he felt her body responding to his touch on an entirely different level. Her breathing quickened again and her eyes were storm dark.

"You should try stretching out before you go to bed," he continued. "It will help keep the muscles from cramping up."

"And I suppose you're going to offer to help me with that?"

He chuckled.

"If that's what you'd like."

She jerked her leg away, providing a brief but lovely view of hip, inner thigh and panties. He reached out and gripped her ankle. She fought him this time and he drew his thumb lightly down the sole of her foot. She quivered and quit resisting. The towel slid dangerously. He recaptured her leg as she fumbled with it.

"That tickles, don't do that!"

"Then hold still. I'm not done."

"I think you are."

Ah, there was that flame of temper mixed with arousal. He bet there was a lot more where that came from.

He ignored her and with his palm on the bottom of her foot, pushed gently against her toes, curving them back toward her. He could see the relief wash across her face as the last traces of pain vanished.

"Better?"

"Yes. Lots. Where did you learn to do that?"

"When you've been around as long as I have, you learn to do a lot of things."

He watched as she turned those words over in her mind, saw response in her eyes even though she didn't say anything. Now that the immediate crisis had been resolved, he half expected her to order him to leave in a fit of modesty. She didn't. She shifted, gingerly flexing her leg and twisting her ankle in circles. She leaned forward to inspect her calf as though she expected it to be changed somehow and the towel slid, exposing a lot more than he was sure she intended. Even under the dim light of the tent's bare bulb, he could see the edge of one areola, dusky pink against the pale skin of her breast. There was only so much a man could take. He rose and started toward the door.

"Greg?"

He turned and looked back. She'd adjusted the towel, although that wasn't saying much.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said and left while he was still in control.

 **XXX**

 _Greg Boyington had a knack for showing up at the most unexpected times. The Black Sheep tried to flush me out with a rat in my bunk – he showed up with a fifth of Scotch and smoothed everything over. I was ready to kill Jim Gutterman – he showed up in my darkroom and talked me down. I thought I might die from a leg cramp – he showed up with the most incredible hands and it was gone within minutes. I didn't know if it was deliberate or accidental or fate but I knew one thing - every time he showed up, he created an entirely new set of problems. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Several nights later**

Kate wrestled with the paragraph, phrasing it different ways in her mind before committing it to paper. It refused to cooperate, the words dancing just out of reach even as she struck the keys that should have captured them. She yanked another sheet of paper out of the typewriter and crumpled it. Outside her tent, night insects hummed and buzzed, filling the void left by her silenced keys.

A rustle at the door of her tent made her look up. Meatball pushed his way in, tail wagging jauntily and she smiled. Her smile was partly for the dog and partly because she knew Greg wouldn't be far behind him.

"It's after midnight, what are you doing?" He stepped inside and jerked the mosquito netting back into place.

"Come in, make yourself at home." She shoved her chair back. She was done for the night. Greg's appearance meant her train of thought had officially derailed. All he had to do was look at her and those eyes took her places she hadn't been in a long time. They didn't ask, they just took and she was powerless against them. She wondered if he knew. She wondered if he thought about her as much as she'd been thinking about him. Nothing like having a man's hands on you when you were practically naked to make for some very vivid dreams.

"Not wearing a towel tonight?"

Damnit. Now he was reading her mind.

"Stop it. I should have kicked you out the other night."

"Sweetheart, you couldn't even stand up, let alone kick."

She swallowed hard and prayed her emotions weren't painted across her face. He'd seen more of her than she intended that night. She remembered the look on his face just before he left her tent and a thread of molten heat ran through her.

"I would have worked that charley horse out eventually on my own."

"But you wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much." Before she could protest, he lifted a bottle of Scotch. "Thought you might like a nightcap. I don't suppose you have any glasses in here."

She looked around at the scattered mess of papers and notebooks.

"Um . . . no." She produced a single porcelain coffee mug, looked in it, grimaced and set it back down.

"That's what I like about you, Cameron, you're such a tidy little thing."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Smart ass. I'd kick you out now if you hadn't come bearing gifts." She grabbed an armful of stateside newspapers balanced precariously on the only other chair in the tent and chucked them on the floor. "There. Sit."

"What are you working on that's got you up so late?"

"A story about TJ. Can I get a couple of quotes from you, as his CO?"

"I didn't come over here to talk about TJ."

Kate blinked.

"Then why did you come over here?" she asked, her mind shifting from work focus to something a lot less defined and a whole lot more dangerous.

"Ever hear of a social call?" He uncorked the bottle and handed it to her. "Ladies first."

She took it with a slightly skeptical look and drank. Damn. Living here was ruining her for drinking Scotch anywhere else.

"A social call? What are _you_ doing up at this time of night?" She checked her watch. "Morning."

"Listening to you swear at your typewriter."

She laughed and drank again.

"How do you come up with such good Scotch out here on the backside of nowhere?"

"Is this off the record?"

Kate slid her chair back further and propped her bare feet on the edge of her desk.

"Yes," she said, smiling as she watched his eyes trace the length of her legs. She wiggled her toes and deliberately crossed her ankles. "Anything that happens after midnight is off the record."

"Cameron, you're giving me an entirely different view of the press."

"That's because I'd bet you've never seen the press in a towel before," she said. Meatball climbed into her lap. She shifted in the chair to accommodate the dog. "Your dog is pushy."

"He likes you."

"He has excellent taste." She was laughing but when his eyes locked on hers, she felt the breath go out of her lungs. How did he _do_ that?

"You gonna drink that all yourself?"

"Sorry." She handed the bottle back. "You were telling me about black market Scotch in the South Pacific."

"I was?"

"Yeah. Off the record. In detail."

He hesitated.

"Don't you trust me?" She laughed, knowing she'd caught him thinking about something that had absolutely nothing to do with black market Scotch.

"Yeah, Cameron, I trust you." Another one of those looks. He needed to stop that. A tingle that was completely unrelated to drinking hard liquor right out of the bottle ran down her spine and settled warmly in her belly.

"Since you think you need to know . . .," Greg began.

It was after 2 a.m. before he left. Kate tumbled onto her cot, her mind spinning from drink and the twisting turns of the squadron's carefully crafted black market dealings. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought of the formal dinners she often attended with Andrew during their time together in England, him in dress uniform, her in an evening gown.

Here and now, sitting in a canvas tent, passing a bottle of bootleg Scotch back and forth with a man wearing skivvies and a T-shirt, his dog sitting on her lap, created a sense of intimacy that far surpassed the china and crystal and formal protocol of those evenings.

 **XXX**

 _It was getting harder and harder to separate business from pleasure. Every look from those blue eyes, every time he flashed one of those dimpled grins, the line blurred a little more. Greg said he trusted me and I believed him, at least from a professional standpoint. He trusted me with the Black Sheep's reputation and that said a lot, but I wasn't sure where I stood with him otherwise. He was always the perfect gentleman when he was around me. That was probably a good thing, since I got a feeling the other boys were keeping a pretty close eye on both of us. This place was like living in a fishbowl. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Espritos Marcos, Allied Rear Command**

Colonel Thomas Lard hung his hat on the rack in the corner of his office after lunch and sat down at his desk. It was Tuesday afternoon and he was looking forward to the delivery of the mail because Tuesday's mail always contained a bundle of stateside newspapers. K.C. Cameron had been on Vella La Cava for nearly two weeks. Lard couldn't wait to see what the man made of Boyington's rebels. He wished he could have briefed Cameron on the Black Sheep before he shipped out for La Cava but it hadn't been possible due to time constraints. If the fellow was half as brilliant as everyone said he was, Lard felt confident he would handle them just fine.

Margaret, his secretary, clicked briskly through the door, carrying a thick stack of newsprint.

"I think you'll want to see this, sir," she said, putting the papers on his desk blotter.

Lard looked down. The top paper was the New York Times. A banner headline screamed "U.S. WAR EFFORT IN SOUTH PACIFIC CHOKED BY SUPPLY LINE ISSUES." In slightly smaller type, the sub-head proclaimed "AIR CAMPAIGN IN SOLOMONS HAMPERED AS MECHANICS STRUGGLE TO KEEP PLANES IN SAFE REPAIR." The byline was K.C. Cameron.

There were pictures. A lot of very good pictures. That fellow, Hatch or Hootch or whoever that skinny, dark-haired mechanic was at the 214, working on planes under night lights. One of the planes spewing thick black smoke on landing. Even one of Boyington and his men before a mission, everyone of them looking square-jawed and steely-eyed, like they'd walked off a Marine Corps recruiting poster. What was _this?_

"Hold my calls, Margaret," he said.

"Yes, sir." She closed the door behind her on the way out.

Lard shook the paper open. The Black Sheep were on the front page of the New York Times and they looked good. He read the story. He re-read it. As if looking good wasn't bad enough, they sounded good, too. This Cameron fellow had painted them out to be American heroes, not the band of rule-breaking renegades he knew they were.

Seated at her desk, Margaret could hear muffled expletives coming from behind the door. Well, she thought to herself, if the colonel didn't want someone else's opinion about what was going on at Vella La Cava, he never should have sent a journalist over there. When it came to the battle between Lard and Boyington, her money was on Boyington every time.

 **XXX**

"More to the right," Greg said. "And down a little."

"I can't move any further to the right," Kate returned. "I'll fall off."

"Stretch."

"I am stretching. Where's your hand?"

"Further down. Let me –"

"But I can't see – " Her hand flailed blindly and he caught her wrist.

"Don't tell me you've never touched something you couldn't see before."

There was a brief pause before she answered.

"Usually not in broad daylight."

He burst out laughing. God love her, when she spoke her mind she didn't hold back.

"Then maybe it's time you started."

"Greg!" Kate's voice was filled with shocked humor but he decided it was more humor than shock.

"Did I offend you, sweetheart?"

"No! Oh, crap! Sorry."

The wrench she'd been holding clattered to the ground and Greg swore as it narrowly missed his head. Maybe he'd deserved that.

Kate was sprawled on her stomach on the starboard wing of his plane. She was trying to help him repair the brackets for the wing-mounted camera. The brackets were at an awkward place and it was a two-person job that Hutch usually did solo and in half the time. Greg told Hutch to focus on more serious repairs, he would fix the brackets, then he'd sweet-talked Kate into helping him. It hadn't taken much talking to pull her away from the story she was working on. He hoped it hadn't been simple boredom that had her agreeing to lend him a hand.

She was willing help but the project was still taking them twice as long as it would have taken Hutch. Under the circumstances, Greg didn't mind the time commitment. He could think of worse ways to spend an evening with her. He could think of better ones, too, but for the time being, just having her to himself was worth the sweat and dirt. Next time, he'd find something cleaner and a lot more private to do.

A horn sounded as a jeep barreled toward them. TJ looked a little wild-eyed as he pulled to a stop.

Greg climbed down the ladder. Kate swung her legs over the edge of the wing and prepared to jump. He reached up and caught her by the waist, setting her down gently, forcing himself not to let his hands linger. Her shirt caught up on one side and his fingers brushed briefly against warm skin, making it even harder to let go. A knowing glance from TJ made him realize the gesture hadn't been lost on the younger man. So be it.

"Colonel Lard is on the radio for Kate," TJ said. "Only he's asking to speak with 'Mr.' Cameron."

Kate brushed at the grime on her clothes.

"I never met Lard face to face," she said in answer to both men's unspoken question. "He doesn't know I'm not a mister."

"How'd you manage that?" Greg asked, filing the information away for future use. _Lard didn't know Cameron was a woman?_

"I only had a brief layover on Espritos when I came out here." Kate shrugged. "I was supposed to meet him but didn't. We just missed each other."

"What do I tell him?" TJ asked. "He really wants to talk to you, Kate. I couldn't tell if he was happy or mad but he sounded a little agitated."

"Lard sounds like that most of the time where we're involved," Greg said. He had seen this coming from the day he read Kate's first story. Lard was going to want to talk to the journalist who was, intentionally or not, holding his feet to the flames.

"Tell him Cameron is interviewing an injured pilot at the hospital and can't be reached right now. He'll have to call back. And I don't care when he calls back – she's – he's – still busy." That would buy them some time, although he didn't know how much. Turning to Kate, he said, "The less Lard knows about you, the better."

Kate's first story had managed to be exactly what the colonel would not want to see printed about the Black Sheep but it had been crafted in a way that ensured he wouldn't complain too loudly. The 214 looked good, so by extension, Lard looked good, even though he was directly responsible for most of the supply line issues that were the focus of the story in the first place. And Lard knew Cameron knew that. Lard might gripe to General Moore but Greg was confident Moore would still back the Black Sheep.

Greg also knew the fact that she'd made the Black Sheep look good was going to put her dead in Lard's sights. If the man got wind that K.C. was Katherine Christine, he would almost certainly yank her out of the 214. Embedding a female correspondent amidst an all-male unit was not in the Marine Corps Manual, which made Greg all the more determined to keep her here. That and a few other reasons that weren't in the Marine Corps Manual either.

With several campaigns in the theatre ramping up, Lard was going to have his plate full. Greg hoped that would keep him busy enough to put K.C. Cameron out of his mind for a while.

TJ got back in the jeep and left. Turning to Kate, Greg jerked his thumb at the plane and the still-loose bracket. She scrambled up the ladder and back onto the wing and flattened herself to reach over the edge again and hold the loose end in place. It worked this time. Greg tightened the screws.

"Aren't we all on the same side – you, Lard, me?" she asked. Greg looked up from the ladder. They were nearly eye-to-eye as she stretched to hold the metal in place.

"In theory. Lard wanted you here because he had some wild idea that having full-time press coverage would make this unit walk the straight and narrow and drive me crazy in the process."

He could see she was fighting a smile. Her eyes sparkled. The tropical breeze had tugged strands of her hair loose and the evening sun bronzed her cheeks with color. She would make great nose art, he thought, all legs and curves in those cut-off trousers and tied up man's shirt. The fact that she was sweaty and had dirt smudged on her cheek did nothing to diminish her appeal. If anything, it emphasized her natural attractiveness, the kind that didn't rely on cosmetics or fashion. She gave him a sideways look through her lashes. It was a specialty of hers, he'd noticed, and usually meant she was going to say something that would put him on the spot.

"Is it working?"

"Is what working? The camera mount?" He'd just gotten the wrench on the last bolt.

"Lard's plan – am I driving you crazy?" The curve of her mouth blossomed into a full-blown smile and there wasn't anything innocent about it.

"Every day, Cameron," he said through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off hers. "Every. Single. Day."

 **XXX**

 _I've spent a lot of time watching girls flirt and there was something different about her. She enjoyed the boys' teasing and threw it right back at them without batting an eye but it was clear it wasn't going any further than that. I'd watched her turn down invitations for walks on the beach under a full moon or offers to see the night-blooming flowers at the island's waterfall but when I asked her to spend an evening getting filthy dirty, she said yes without hesitating. When she was around me, she still flirted and teased but there was an undercurrent to it that made me think she wouldn't be so quick to say no if I asked for more than handing me wrenches. - GB_

 **XXX**

The Black Sheep's outdoor showers consisted of three individual stalls with a water reservoir suspended above each and piping leading to a chain-operated shower head. Kate stepped into the nearest wooden enclosure and latched the door firmly behind her. At least there was a latch. What in the world was she thinking? This sounded like a good idea when Greg suggested it. Now, in reality, taking off her clothes to use an open air shower in the middle of a base full of men seemed like a serious lapse in judgement.

"You could use our showers, you know," he'd said. "It would be easier than driving to other end of the island tonight. It's late, the guys are usually done by now. Go ahead."

It _had_ been late when they finished with his plane and she'd been so hot and dirty she agreed without argument. Dee was on duty tonight so even though Kate had a key to her room, her friend wouldn't be there. Maybe it was time to finally give the men's facilities a try. She shoved her toiletries into a bucket and headed down the path to the showers. Kate wasn't sure if she was relieved Greg hadn't followed her or uneasy she was on her own.

The walls were tall enough for men so they afforded her a comfortable degree of privacy, or as comfortable as she was likely to get. Hanging her bucket on a nail, she stripped out of her sweaty clothes. The evening air was warm on her skin and the low angle of the sun painted the surrounding foliage with dappled twilight. She stepped under the water reservoir and pulled the chain.

The set-up was based on solar heating. The water wasn't cold but it wasn't hot either. She let out a squeak and let go of the chain. Okay. It wasn't that bad. She pulled the chain again, soaked her hair and skin and released it. Grabbing her bar of soap, she lathered. Night insects buzzed and a few birds hooted in the jungle.

This really wasn't too bad, she thought, if she could get past the reality of being totally naked with just a few thin boards separating her from a base full of skirt-chasing men. She wasn't overly modest but thought being naked was a condition best reserved for the indoors and with very select company. She shampooed her hair, rinsed and stood for a few decadent moments, letting the water run over her.

She hummed a few bars of the popular Harry James tune that had been running through her head, then gave in and let her voice fill the small area.

" _Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, and kiss me once again . . .,"_ she paused for breath.

" _It's been a long, long time_ ," came a pleasant tenor from outside the shower. "I could help you with that if you've got kissing on your mind, darlin'."

Kate shrieked, clamping her arms across her bare breasts. _This_ was exactly why it was not safe to be naked outside.

"What are you doing here?" she sputtered, fumbling for her towel.

"I'm waiting to take a shower. Unless you want to share."

"Not a chance. I'm done. You could use one of the other stalls."

Jim ignored her.

"Are you sure you don't need someone to wash your back? I'm guessing Greg didn't offer. Or he did and you turned him down."

"No, I don't. And he didn't and I didn't." Although she couldn't honestly say the thought hadn't crossed her mind.

"What about washing your front?"

"Jim!"

"You don't know what you're missing. If there's enough water left I could show you."

"If you come near me, I'll scream." She knew he wouldn't. There was an unwritten code of honor among the boys. He'd stand two feet away on the other side of the door and tease but he wouldn't touch her unless she invited it. And that wasn't going to happen.

"You're awfully tense. You know a little lovin' would help you relax, don't you?"

Hastily, Kate toweled off and pulled on clean clothes. When she stepped out of the shower stall, Jim was sitting on an upturned ammo crate, a towel tossed over his shoulder. He stood up. She stopped in front of him and tipped her head back.

"Let's get a few things straight," she said. "I am not going to bunk with you. I am not going to the beach with you. I am not going to sleep with you. I'm not going to kiss you and I'm not going to shower with you. What part of _no_ don't you understand?"

"You're wrong, you know. You already kissed me."

" _You_ kissed me," she said defensively. "There's a difference."

"If I remember, you kissed back."

Kate blushed hot with the memory. She had kissed him back, all right, but she hadn't been thinking about him.

Jim gave her a shrewd look and she had the clear impression he was reading her mind. That was nearly as bad as being naked outside.

"Hope you didn't use all the hot water, darlin'."

"There wasn't any to start with," she snapped. "A cold shower would be good for you anyway."

She turned and walked away. Behind her, she could hear him singing, " _Haven't felt like this my dear, since can't remember when, it's been a long, long time . . ."_

 **XXX**

 _Staying one step ahead of the Black Sheep was taking nearly as much time as doing my job, although I couldn't say I minded. I still needed to keep an eye on Jim and I didn't know what to do with Greg at all. Well. Not entirely. I knew what I wanted to do with him but he was essentially my commanding officer on this assignment and that would be inappropriate as hell. Of course, he'd already told me this unit wrote the book on inappropriate. - KCC_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Some things can't be rushed**

" _Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly." Mae West_

When he first heard about the Black Sheep's running bet on who Kate would end up sleeping with, Greg brushed it off as typical squadron high jinx. It was exactly the sort of thing the boys would come up with for amusement when a girl who looked like that moved into the middle of their base.

Was it inappropriate? Oh hell yes, but most of the stuff they did was inappropriate so he let it go. When they started the bet, he didn't think she was going to be here long enough for it to make any difference.

Now it did.

She hadn't bailed out. Not only that, she'd gone from being a potential liability to being an asset to the unit. Her stories generated positive results in Washington and for the first time in months, the stranglehold on supplies between Espritos and La Cava had loosened. Lard was under pressure.

Thanks to Kate, their birds were better maintained now than they had been since the squadron was formed. Hutch and Micklin were ecstatic. The latter called Kate "that college girl" with a degree of affection that reflected a 180-degree turnaround from his snarling remarks about them _college boys_. Jim and TJ ended up with a brand new tent and the rest of them got enough replacement canvas they were all sleeping dry again. She was good for morale.

That was the simple version of her existence here.

The complicated version was that he liked having her around for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with tent canvas.

 **XXX**

 _Nobody ever called the Black Sheep choir boys. We've all spent time with nurses on the beach at La Cava or in more comfortable quarters on Espritos. Those were never anything more than a mutual escape from reality for a few hours and I always woke up alone anyway. That wasn't going to work with Kate. The only thing more attractive than the idea of having her in my bed at night was waking up with her in my arms the next morning. - GB_

 **XXX**

Greg leaned against a palm tree and watched Kate, Dee and Laura Halvorson, a blonde nurse from some little Scandinavian burg in the Midwest, playing three-person volleyball against Casey, Anderson and TJ. In spite of their height advantage, the boys were losing badly. Greg thought it had less to do with the girls' intrinsic talent for volleyball than it did with the fact the boys were susceptible to their diversionary tactics. With those three girls, just breathing was diversionary.

His eyes followed Kate's lithe figure as she leaped to set the ball and Dee sent it flying across the net. She was barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt that had seen better days. The fabric stretched snugly as she moved.

"You'd get hurt."

He turned as Jim stepped into the shade next to him.

"What? You're a mind reader now?"

"Don't have to be. I know what you're lookin' at and I've flown with you long enough to know how you think. That girl's 15 years younger than you, Greg. You'd get hurt," Jim repeated, a look of amusement on his face.

"Thirteen years. And you think men over 35 can't show a girl a good time? I've had more practice than you have."

On the sand court, Dee slammed the ball home for another point. The girls high-fived each other. The boys groaned.

Jim chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.

"I think she'd show you such a good time you wouldn't be able to get out of bed the next morning."

"I've had a hard time getting out of bed for worse reasons," Greg countered.

Jim switched to playing devil's advocate.

"So what are you waitin' for? You know she ain't workin' for Lard so you wouldn't be sleeping with the enemy. It ain't like you not to follow through when something fine catches your eye and that girl is fine." He drew out the last four words appreciatively.

Greg watched as Kate dove to keep the ball in play, then climbed to her feet, laughing and brushing sand off her shirt.

"You can't rush something like that," he said.

"Then you'd better get started. You ain't getting any younger." Jim's voice was ripe with humor.

Greg slanted his exec a wry grin.

"I figure that's the least of the problem."

A number of questions had been chasing themselves around in his mind ever since he realized he and Kate were on the same side in his ongoing battle against Colonel Lard. She enjoyed his company, that was clear, and yeah, he _was_ older, but he got the feeling that really didn't matter to her. He wouldn't deny the attraction and everything indicated it was mutual but girls her age generally weren't looking for any kind of on-going relationship in the middle of a war zone. At least that was true with nurses. With a few exceptions, they were almost as bad as the boys for one night stands. He had no idea if the same applied to journalists. He didn't have any idea where the future might take them, either, but as long as they worked together, they were going to have an on-going relationship whether they wanted to or not. He would prefer not to plunge it into icy awkwardness by rushing anything.

Jim didn't let up.

"What have you got to lose? You two seem to be gettin' along just fine. You sure spend a lot of time together."

"Are you trying to set me up to get flamed? You're just chapped because she keeps telling you no." Jim had backed off in his pursuit of Kate, which Greg privately thought was in the best interests of all involved. The minute his own intentions became clear, he knew the Black Sheep wouldn't give him any peace about it. Living and working in such close quarters meant even the most casual of relationships were conducted under the microscope that was the 214.

"Nah, I got over that. Me and her got an understanding now. I'm back with Darlene. She knows a good thing when she sees it." Jim named the red-haired nurse he'd been seeing before Kate arrived on the base. Jim grinned. "Boyle's got 20 bucks says Katie won't tell you no, though. Just show her a good time. You know what I mean."

Greg knew exactly what he meant. While his exec made it a regular habit of showing girls a good time, Greg tended to be a little more selective and a lot more discreet when it came to affairs of the heart. Or the body, which was pretty much what it came down to. Physical relationships were largely matters of convenience for both parties with no expectation beyond the sunrise. While he enjoyed finessing a romantic interlude, no matter how short-lived it might be, he had little interest in trying to maintain it in the light of day. Until now.

"Jim! Pappy! Spell us for a while!" TJ and Anderson staggered off the court and collapsed in the shade. "Those girls are killing us. French and Boyle were subbing but they went to get beer and never came back."

The volleyball sailed into their midst and Greg caught it.

"Are you telling me you're rotating five Marines against two nurses and an AP photographer and you're still getting beat?" he said.

"Just look at them. They're invincible." Anderson wiped sweat off his forehead.

Greg looked, not that he'd ever quit looking.

Kate was flushed with heat, her hair curling madly in the humidity. Her T-shirt clung to her back and across her breasts in sweaty patches and sand dusted those incredible legs. When she saw him looking at her, she made a hurry up gesture with both hands.

"Come on! You boys need three players on the court or you'll forfeit," she called, then added, "It helps if they can stand up." Casey was laying flat on his back, an arm flung across his face. On the other side of the net, Dee did not look sympathetic.

Greg kicked off his boots.

"Let's go, Gutterman. What have we got to lose?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Jim said and followed him.

 **XXX**

 _I wasn't in the habit of taking advice about women from the boys. To be honest, I didn't need it. But even while Jim was giving me a hard time about it, I knew something had already started between Kate and me. I'd learned from experience there are three things that should never be hurried: the execution of a military strategy, the savoring of vintage Scotch and the seduction of a beautiful woman. And all three had the same thing in common – if you didn't pay attention to what you were doing, they could end badly._

 **XXX**

In spite of the boys' offers the night she arrived, Kate had been at the 214 for nearly a month before she saw more of the beach than just a passing glance on her way to visit Dee.

Her friend warned her about the beach, though. Going there with any of the boys was not to be taken lightly since the place came with a set of unwritten, but clearly defined, expectations. During the day, it provided solitude for escape or a co-ed playground in both water and on the sand. Visits in the evening were the stuff of romance, walking hand-in-hand as the sun set or cuddling around a driftwood fire.

Visits that lingered after dark were when starry-eyed romance gave way to physical need. On a base where privacy of any kind, let alone indoor privacy, was nearly non-existent, Kate found it ironic that many couples turned to a spot under the wide open night sky when they sought seclusion. Curious, she pushed Dee on the subject. Her friend gave her a knowing look, blushed attractively pink and changed the subject.

 **XXX**

Casey stopped by her tent after lunch that day. Consumed with writing a story, Kate turned from her typewriter to find him standing awkwardly in the doorway, holding a paper sack.

"Dee sent you this," he said. Looking up at the tent ceiling as if reciting from memory, he continued, "And she made me swear to make you swear that you would use it when the time came."

Kate was skeptical and slightly alarmed. She wasn't about to start making promises regarding unknown items, especially when they came from a nurse at the hospital. The possibilities were a little too much to fathom. No doubt Dee had her best interests in mind but Kate knew exactly what Dee thought those interests should be.

"Um, yeah, okay, tell her thanks, I think."

"See you later then." Casey backed out of the tent. Kate got the feeling he didn't know what was in the bag, either.

She opened it and tipped a swirl of brightly colored cloth onto her bunk. It was a bathing suit – one piece, turquoise with black trim and white polka dots. That's just what I need, she thought absently and went back to her writing.

She had taken TJ up on his offer from her first day on La Cava and was writing a personality profile on him, the pilot who seemed the least likely candidate for the hottest fighter squadron in the Southwest Pacific. Greg had come through with a few quotes she could use after she'd cornered him in the Sheep Pen and badgered him until he gave in.

She had been working on the story most of the day and her muse was hot. An hour after Casey left, she heard a jeep pull up outside and someone knocked on her tent frame. She waved a hand in acknowledgement without turning around. Whoever it was could wait a few more paragraphs.

She typed steadily, letting thoughts flow out of her fingertips – impressions, observations, quotes, facts. Behind her, footsteps approached. Probably Casey, she thought, coming to check inventory for whatever black market deal they were currently running. Even though the Spam, wine, cookies and grenades had been relocated, her tent was still the repository for the whisky. Since that was the squadron's most valuable commodity, she supposed she should feel flattered they left it within her reach.

The footsteps stopped directly behind her chair and warm hands settled on her shoulders. She sensed the undefinable something that was Greg before she could smell the faint trace of shaving lotion and tobacco smoke. She froze in her seat, uncertain. All the time they spent together in the darkroom, on the flight line, in the Sheep Pen, in one another's tents, he rarely touched her and then only with the politest of gestures. He teased her constantly but their verbal sparring was on a different level than Jim's or TJ's endless joking propositions. He managed to blend irreverent comments with a degree of quiet respect she found unsettling. If he was deliberately trying to keep her off balance, it was working.

The night he massaged the charley horse out of her calf was still vivid in her mind but he'd left abruptly when he finished. That had probably been a good thing, she thought. She could recall the sensation of his hands on her body just by closing her eyes. It would have been so easy to let him take more than he already had. Was that what he wanted? Was that what she wanted?

She held her breath, half startled he was touching her now, half afraid he'd stop. She started to turn but he pressed her firmly back into the chair.

"Cameron, you're wound tighter than an eight-day clock."

His hands worked in slow strokes, easing aching muscles in her neck and shoulders she hadn't been aware of. She'd been sitting at her typewriter without a break for too long.

"Occupational hazard," she said, eyes closed. "I'll give you an hour to stop that."

"Only an hour? I was hoping for a little more."

She jumped again, this time at the suggestive tone of his voice. She didn't say anything. She didn't trust her voice and didn't know what to say anyway. His hands moved lower, pressure steady as they worked down her spine. She abandoned herself shamelessly to his touch.

"Hang up your notebook," he said, drawing his thumbs under her shoulder blades. "Come down to the beach with us."

"I should finish – ," she started.

"You should take a break," he said. "The next transport won't be here for two days. That story isn't going anywhere. TJ may wreck another plane by then and you'll have to re-write it anyway."

Outside, the base sounded in unusually high spirits. A jeep drove past, honking, occupants shouting.

Greg's palms were hot through the fabric of her shirt, his fingers splayed along her ribs. That tickled. She squirmed. His hands moved back toward her shoulders, squeezed her biceps, traced her ears. Tickling again. That was _not_ accidental. She arched her neck, inviting more. Little warning bells were going off but she couldn't help it. His hands were taking her places she hadn't been for a long time. It was a path she was becoming less and less hesitant to travel.

"Put on your bathing suit, Dee is going to come through here with some other nurses to pick you up. I'll see you later."

"I don't own a bathing suit." Her mind was blank, drifting randomly on the pleasure of his hands. She'd completely forgotten Dee's gift and the orders that came with it.

Outside a jeep horn blasted and Jim yelled, "Come on, Greg! We got beer to drink!"

"What's that?" He nodded his head toward her bunk. The suit was laying where she'd let it fall earlier. His hands were still on her shoulders, warm and hard.

"Oh." She struggled to produce coherent thoughts. "Dee sent it this morning."

Outside, the horn blasted again.

"Let's go! Unless you're winning the bet. In that case we'll leave without you. Go easy on him, Katie."

Kate groaned. Apparently that damn bet was still alive and well. She twisted to look at Greg. His grin matched hers.

"You know about the bet?" he said. "You're not supposed to know about the bet."

"I'm a reporter, remember? I know a lot of things I'm not supposed to."

His laugh was quiet.

"I bet you do. Don't make me come back here and drag you away from that typewriter."

His fingers trailed across the base of her neck, then he was gone. There was a great deal of ribald laughter outside and the jeep pulled away.

Kate sat with her eyes closed, feeling the strength of his hands rippling through her body. Every time she was around him, the line separating their professional and personal relationships grew thinner.

She tried to refocus on the story. Not happening. He'd done it again. Walked in and shut down anything resembling a logical thought process. Her muse was gone. It had apparently left for the beach without her.

Kate shimmied out of her shorts and T-shirt and into the turquoise bathing suit. It fit her well, no doubt borrowed from one of the nurses on her behalf. She pulled her shorts and shirt back on, grabbed a towel and her copy of "Gone With The Wind" and was waiting when Dee and some of her friends arrived a few minutes later.

Laura Halverson and Ellen Morgan, Bobby Anderson's auburn-haired girl, were in the jeep with Dee. They were all in tearing high spirits.

"Did Casey deliver my package?" Dee asked as Kate climbed in the back with Ellen.

"Yeah, thanks to whoever loaned me the suit."

"You're welcome," Laura returned.

"You really wouldn't have needed a bathing suit at all," Ellen said, giggling. "Bobby told me Casey said the water in the lagoon is great for skinny dipping, right Dee?"

Dee didn't reply. She put the jeep in gear and they sped out of the base.

There it was again, Kate thought, that casual reference to after-hours activity with no respect for anything resembling privacy. Skinny dipping? Making love on the beach? She'd had a couple of romantic rendezvous in less than traditional places but at least they'd been indoors with a roof and four walls. Taking it to the beach was more than she could fathom.

 **XXX**

Vella La Cava might be lacking in certain other amenities but it had one of the most spectacular beaches Kate had ever seen. Palm trees fringed the slice of white sand that wandered aimlessly along one side of the island and crystal blue water lapped lazily at the shore. It was as close to paradise as you could get in the middle of a war, she thought.

She stripped off her shorts and shirt and leaned back on Dee's beach blanket, propping herself on her elbows. She dug her toes into the sand, smiling as the salt breeze washed over her. It would be pure bliss to spend a couple of hours reading. She and Sarah had gone to see "Gone With The Wind" at the Capitol Theater in Grand Forks, North Dakota, but she was enjoying Margaret Mitchell's book much more than the film. She didn't think Scarlett O'Hara had much sense when it came to men, though. She was wasting her time mooning over Ashley Wilkes when she was clearly destined to be with Rhett Butler. What a charming rogue Rhett was, she thought. He would have fit right in with the Black Sheep.

By the waterline, Greg, Jim, TJ and Bob Anderson were throwing a football back and forth. They'd all stripped down to their skivvies and were chasing around in and out of the water. Kate noticed the boys had abandoned any degree of modesty around her, not that they'd ever had much to start with. She allowed herself a few completely self-serving moments of watching them. There was nothing wrong with admiring shirtless men, she told herself. God knows they watched her often enough, no matter what she was wearing.

There was a great deal of shouting and hooting as another jeep filled with nurses arrived. Kate closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sunshine. She could stay like this forever, she thought, surrounded by the ocean breeze, the soft splashing of water, no one trying to kill anyone else, no deadlines.

Water dripped on her legs, progressing upward from toes to thighs.

"I see you broke loose from your typewriter."

Kate's eyes flew open. Greg laughed. He was standing next to her, soaking wet.

"Did I interrupt something important?" He sat down on the blanket. Damn. He looked as good wet as he did dry. Water trickled off his shoulders, clinging to the hair on his chest in sparkling droplets before running across the muscle of his belly.

It wasn't polite to stare but Kate couldn't keep her eyes off him. She remembered the slow inspection he'd done the night she arrived on the base and didn't rush.

It wasn't like she'd never seen him without his shirt on. He'd taken it off during that volleyball game but she'd been too busy to just sit and admire him then. Besides, she was sure he'd done it on purpose to distract her and she'd been determined not to fall for it. And while she routinely saw him in USMC-issue skivvies, they normally weren't soaking wet and fitting like a second skin. The fabric clung intriguingly, emphasizing solid muscle definition underneath.

Kate's grandma, Claire Cameron, had been fond of saying God doesn't give with both hands. As a child, Kate had been taught this meant she should be happy with the things she had and not be jealous of what others had.

"You sit a horse better than anyone else in this county and you always have the right words for telling stories," Grandma Cameron told her once, "so don't be thinkin' you need fancy clothes like Maisey Carlson or to live in a grand house like Susie Calkins. God doesn't give with both hands, child."

As a woman, she'd learned the phrase held a whole new meaning. She found that sometimes the handsomest of men were underwhelmingly equipped to perform in the bedroom, while the plainest, most unassuming boys were the most gifted lovers. Studying Greg's body, it was clear God had made an exception in his case. He had given with both hands.

Greg cleared his throat. She met his gaze and grinned shamelessly. Busted.

"Are you done?"

"No," she said with total honesty. She could have sat there and looked at him a lot longer and the gleam in his eye told her he wouldn't argue. She was trying to decide where to go with this when movement over his shoulder caught her eye. Meatball came trotting across the sand, carrying something bright red.

"What does your dog have in his mouth?"

Greg whistled. The terrier trotted up, proudly displaying his prize. Greg pried the scarlet silk out of the dog's teeth.

"Looks like a pair of panties."

Kate blinked.

"What?"

"He does that – steals women's underwear whenever he can." Greg shrugged. "We figure he's got a stash somewhere but we've never found it. Hey, Jim!"

Jim loped up from the waterline, took one look at what Greg was holding and grinned.

"These belong to anyone you know?" Greg held up the slip of silk.

Jim took the flimsy garment and dangled it from one finger.

"Yeah," he said. "I reckon they're Dar's. She was wearing red a couple of nights ago. She musta left 'em out here." He slanted a sideways look at Kate, who stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. The men's casual approach to sex on the beach mirrored Dee's. Jim winked at her, as if reading her thoughts. He reached down and scratched Meatball on the head. "Thanks, buddy. It'll be bonus points for me when I give these back."

The dog looked disappointed at having lost his prize and began sniffing around Kate's neatly folded shirt and shorts.

"Oh no you don't." She pushed him away. "There's nothing there you need."

"Last time I checked, red silk wasn't Navy issue," Greg said.

"You ain't checked for a long time," Jim chuckled, "but you're right. We ought to see if we can swing a trade deal for some girls' underthings. The nurses would go crazy over that." He turned to Kate. "You got a favorite color, darlin'? I'm thinking pink would suit you just fine."

"I am not discussing my underwear with you!" Kate sat up indignantly. She felt Greg's eyes on her. Damnit! He _did_ know what color her underwear were. They'd been prominently displayed the night he had his hands all over her leg. They weren't anything to write home about and under the circumstances that had hardly mattered but she'd prefer they not be the topic of an extended discussion. Or of _any_ discussion for that matter.

Greg's slow smile told her he knew what she was thinking but there was extra warmth to it, an invitation for her to share the private joke. She found herself responding with a grin of her own and fought it – she was _not_ going to encourage that behavior.

"I think she'd be more the black lace type," he said.

No, she hadn't imagined it. That gaze held a tangible warmth now. She swallowed hard. This conversation had gone off the rails. She didn't know what was worse – talking about her very practical lingerie with two fighter pilots or one of those pilots imagining her in something else.

"I do not own black lace anything," she said firmly. "And your dog is a pervert."

Both men laughed.

"No, sweetheart," Greg said. "If he liked men's shorts, he'd be a pervert. As long as he likes girl's things, we figure he's okay."

Jim gestured toward Meatball, who was on his belly and crawling imperceptibly closer to Kate's clothing.

"I'd keep an eye on him, Katie, next thing you know, he'll be in your tent, picking things off your clothesline."

"Then he's a stalker," she said. She put a hand on Meatball's head and addressed him in a firm tone. "Keep your teeth off my clothes, Dog." Meatball wagged his tail.

Jim left, heading for the beer cooler. Greg's smile grew.

"I've seen your clothesline, Cameron, I don't think he'd hurt anything."

It was the truth. Her undergarments were in as rough shape as the rest of her clothes. Her bras and panties were purely functional and certainly nothing more. There was little use for nice lingerie in a war zone, although the nurses apparently took a different approach. Black lace, indeed. This was truly an inappropriate topic. Just as she opened her mouth to point that out, a football smacked into the sand next to her leg. Grateful for the distraction, she scrambled to her feet and launched it back. Her throw was a lovely, tight spiral, even if it lacked distance. TJ did a diving catch.

"I want Kate on my team!" he called.

"No!" she yelled back. "No teams, no nothing. I'm going to sit here and read my book and –" she looked at Greg, "- stay out of the way, like you're always telling me." She turned to sit down.

"I don't think so."

Even if Kate hadn't been good at reading body language, the look on his face would have given him away. That roguish grin was worse than usual.

"No!" She back-peddled, unable to move quickly in the loose sand. "No! Don't you dare!"

He was faster than she expected. Before she could take another step, he scooped her off her feet, one arm around her waist and one under her legs. The sudden impact of his bare skin against hers was like the infusion of a drug. His touch was respectful but left no room for argument. She argued anyway.

"Put me down!"

He ignored her.

"You say no more than any girl I've met. Maybe you should say yes and see what happens."

They were headed toward the water and Kate had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen. He carried her across the sand as if she weighed nothing. She flailed her legs and beat on his chest with her fists but it was useless. The man was solid muscle. She got the feeling the more she fought, the better he liked it. She tried wiggling loose. All that got her was an amused look. When she kept wiggling, he tossed her over his shoulder and smacked her backside.

"Put me down! You are out of line, Boyington!"

Half upside down now, she railed on his back with closed fists. He ignored her. Kicking only resulted in iron fingers clamping her ankles together as he waded into the surf.

"Are you going to quit fighting me?"

"No!" She struggled harder. "Let. Go. Of. Me!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

He tossed her into the water and she went under.

Kate broke the surface, sputtering. The water was warmer than she expected and only waist deep. She stood up, pushed soaking hair from her face, and got her bearings. Her body echoed with the dual impact of his unexpected touch and being tossed into the water. Kate thought this might be what it felt like to get hit by lightning. The Black Sheep were cheering from the shore a few yards away. Greg had his back toward her. Taking advantage of his lapse of attention, she launched herself, wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him off balance. They both went under.

"Paybacks are hell," she said when they resurfaced. She shook wet hair out of her eyes.

"Are you happy now, Cameron?"

"Yes. It's a start." She wasn't sure what it was a start of.

"Jim keeps telling me you only say no. You've said yes to me twice in the last minute."

"Maybe it depends on who's asking." She couldn't help herself.

"Maybe I need to ask more often."

There he went with that look again. God, if he knew what that did to her. Sensation still rippled through her from the sudden, repeated contact his body.

"Kate! Catch!" Someone lobbed the football at her. She caught it out of reflex and looked around. A few yards away, Dee was waving her arms and splashing in front of Casey. Several other nurses appeared and the teams were clearly defined – men versus women. She tried to throw the ball but Greg wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down into the water with him again. She launched a last second pass at Dee and the game was on.

Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. There were no discernable rules. It was less a game of football and more a game of keep-away. Sportsmanship was non-existent and the girls used every advantage they had. Kate was glad Laura had loaned her a one-piece bathing suit because she didn't think one of the newly popular two-piece styles would have stayed on through the horseplay.

The Black Sheep didn't hold back. Although they'd never treated her with kid gloves, any reservations they might have had about their conduct around her vanished after Greg picked her up and tossed her into the water. Don tried carrying her over the boys' goal line after she caught a pass from Laura. TJ picked her up and swung her off her feet to break up a pass from Ellen. After she caught a pass from Dee, Greg wrapped his arms around hers from behind and restrained her while Jim pried the ball out of her hands. The feel of all that bare muscle pressed against her made Jim's job a lot easier than she wanted to admit.

There was a great deal of body contact, both opportunistic and accidental, but she could always tell Greg's touch from the other boys. His fingers were gentle without being hesitant, deliberate but never inappropriate. More than once, he pulled her down into the water with him in a delicious tangle of limbs.

The women declared themselves the winners after they orchestrated a series of hail Mary passes that ended with them all joining hands to make a line the men couldn't break through while Dee carried the ball across their goal line.

Boyle and Anderson made a beer run to the Sheep Pen to restock the coolers. Casey, ever the Boy Scout, built a small driftwood fire and the afternoon's momentum grew lazy. By the time the beer was gone, the sun was slipping toward the horizon. A number of the girls had evening shifts at the hospital, effectively breaking up the party. Kate rode back to the base with Laura and Ellen. Dee had disappeared. So had Casey.

In her tent, Kate dropped "Gone With The Wind" back onto the wooden crate that served as a nightstand. Privately, she thought if Rhett had tossed Scarlett into a pond much earlier in their acquaintance, their story might have gone very differently.

 **XXX**

 _I fell asleep replaying that afternoon in my head. I'd heard enough of the boys' conversations over the last month to know nothing - and I mean nothing - is off limits with them but when Jim started teasing me about the color of my underwear, Greg hadn't said anything, even though he could have. I got the feeling he was enjoying keeping it a private joke between us and I appreciated that. When I came out here, I never dreamed I'd be having a conversation about my underwear with fighter pilots while sitting on a beach wearing a borrowed bathing suit, trying to keep a dog from stealing my clothes. This assignment got crazier every day. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 _She hadn't been shy that afternoon at the beach but splashing around in the water with me and the other boys was pretty innocent stuff. I didn't know how she'd react if it was just the two of us, alone. If anything happened between us – really happened – the whole base would know about it in short order. You couldn't keep a damned secret around here if you tried._ _Jim wasn't any help. He never missed a chance to ask me what I was waiting for. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Dee was eager to relive the beach party. She handed Kate a beer and sat, cross-legged, on her bed.

"What did you do last night after you got back to the base?"

"I took a shower," Kate said. She routinely – cautiously – used the Black Sheep's facilities now. She had even gotten comfortable enough to find herself carrying on conversations with any of the men who happened to be there. It was an odd blend of trust and humor because she never knew who might be on either side of the shower doors. There were still the endless invitations regarding back scrubbing and water conservation but it never went further than that.

Seeing Dee's look, she added, "By myself. And then I went to bed."

Dee looked at her in anticipation.

"By myself!"

"Mmmmmm." Dee tucked dark hair behind her ear. "As much as Greg had his hands all over you at the beach, I thought the evening might have ended differently."

Yeah. He'd had his hands all over her. Twenty-four hours and two showers later, she could still feel every glowing fingerprint.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you had money riding on that stupid bet!" Kate said. When Dee didn't reply, Kate glared at her. "You _do_ have money on it, don't you! I can tell by the look in your eye!"

Dee giggled.

"Oh sweetie, do you really think I'd bet against the Marine Corps?"

"And I thought you were my friend," Kate grumbled, although her words didn't hold any heat. She sighed. "Okay, what are the terms of the bet now?" It seemed to be a fluid thing, having changed course several times since her arrival.

Dee shrugged.

"Most of the boys figure it's just a matter of time."

"A matter of time until what?"

"God, Kate, are you dense? Until you and Greg . . . you know."

"Don't they have anything else to think about? We're not – he isn't interested – oh hell." She took a long drink of her beer.

"Yeah, he is. Why are you fighting it? He's obviously interested. And come on, Katie, the man is gorgeous."

"You're wrapped up with Casey, you're not supposed to be noticing that sort of thing."

"I may be in love with Casey but I'm not blind," Dee pointed out. "Can you even imagine what he's like in – "

Yeah, Kate thought, she'd spent entirely too much time imagining that.

"I don't want to be a notch on another flyboy's bed post," she interrupted. "You know that."

Dee was silent for a minute.

"Casey told me Greg hasn't touched another girl since you landed here. It's been what? Almost six weeks? Trust me, that's a record."

That drew her up short. She hadn't known. What Greg Boyington did with his spare time was his own business. Kate hadn't been paying any attention, but now that she thought about it, she realized a good part of that spare time was spent with her in one capacity or another. Some tiny part of her heart leaped at the thought. Afraid to dwell on the subject, she changed it.

"What did _you_ do last night? I didn't notice you and the charming Lieutenant Casey going back to the base with the rest of us."

Dee turned a becoming shade of pink. It was clear her friend had not gone to bed by herself, although Kate wondered how and where they made that work. She didn't push it. It really wasn't any of her business.

"I'm not saying I didn't have fun on the beach," Kate said. She grinned reluctantly, remembering the heat of Greg's body as he carried her into the water. "I enjoyed it a lot, but I'm not looking for a quick roll in the hay." She took another drink and pointed the beer bottle at Dee. "It's one thing to play around in the water but then we all get up the next morning and we're living in each other's back pockets again, no matter what happened the night before.

"Besides, you know what it's like over there. There are no secrets, Dee, trust me. There's 20 men in that squadron, plus mechanics and support personnel and other pilots who come through at random. I've heard plenty of their morning-after stories and they don't spare details. I'd rather not be the main topic of conversation at breakfast."

"Kate, I've watched that man operate," Dee said thoughtfully. "He's as bad as any of the boys for chasing a good time with the nurses but whatever's going on between the two of you, is different. He doesn't treat you like his other, um, conquests."

"There's nothing going on."

Dee arched her eyebrows. Kate had never seen such a simple gesture hold so much skepticism.

"You just keep telling yourself that."

Kate changed the subject.

 **XXX**

 _Dee's words echoed in my mind as I drove back to the base that night. Why was I fighting it? I didn't even know what I was fighting. He'd become a force in my life without even trying. One look from those blue eyes and I'd do anything he asked, whether he knew it or not. And he probably did. - KCC_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Taking flight**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 **0300 hours**

 _She glowed under his touch. Strong hands pressed her onto the blanket, lean, hot muscle against bare skin. She could smell the faint trace of shaving lotion hanging in the darkness, blending with the clean scent of his skin. The solid beat of his heart echoed in her blood as his mouth claimed hers. His. She was his. She gave him her body and took his in turn._

Warm fingers squeezed her shoulder and the scent of coffee filled her senses. The trace of shaving lotion remained. Kate sat up in a confused tangle, her heart thumping. Greg perched on the edge of her bunk, illuminated by the dim flame of a lantern. He was in a flight suit, holding a mug of coffee. Her hand flew to her chest, felt the reassuring fabric of her nightshirt. A dream. It had just been a dream. _Damnit._ The dreams had started after that day on the beach and they were getting progressively worse. Or better. She'd always been a glass half full kind of girl.

"Morning, sweetheart." He was grinning, voice brisk. Dear God in heaven, had she been moaning out loud? A few more minutes and she would have been. She hoped he couldn't hear her heart pounding.

"What's up?"

"Another early call out. Casey said you liked it so much last time, I thought I'd wake you up myself."

She rubbed a hand over her face and smothered a yawn.

"You know how to show a girl a good time, Boyington. First you throw me in the ocean, now you're dragging me out of the rack at zero dark thirty. What's next?"

The look on his face told her he was considering several possibilities. He set the coffee on her desk.

She shoved at his arm. It had no effect.

"Get out of here so I can get dressed."

"When are you going to stop being so modest?"

She stared at him. He was really too much at this time of the day. He was too much at any time of the day.

"When are you going to start being a gentleman?"

"You wouldn't know what to do with me if I was a gentleman."

"I think I'd manage." She fought to keep the residual emotion from the dream from flooding her cheeks. She knew exactly what she wanted to do with him.

"Briefing in 10," he said, standing up.

"Thanks for the coffee." That was safe ground.

"Anything for you, Cameron." He walked out.

She watched him go, fingers clenched on the mug. If he'd known what she was thinking, he wouldn't have left, she would have guaranteed it.

 **XXX**

 _She was smiling in her sleep. I stood there for just a minute, watching her, wondering what was on her mind. Funny, most people jump when you wake them up in the middle of the night. She didn't. It was almost like she expected me. If the damned war hadn't been knocking on our back door, I would have made sure that smile stayed on her face even after she woke up. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

 **Somewhere over the Solomon Slot**

The patrol was uneventful, which in Black Sheep terms meant the Japanese fighters had been both expected and dispatched with ease. The 214's birds came through the dogfight with minimal damage and the men headed back to La Cava in high spirits. Even TJ's plane wasn't smoking badly enough to warrant more than the usual concern, so Greg wasn't surprised when radio chatter turned from damage reports to other topics.

"Hey guys, wanna start a pool?" Boyle's voice was loud and clear.

"On what?" TJ came back.

"How soon Pappy and Kate are gonna log some beach time."

"You blind, Boyle? We were just out there a couple of days ago," Greg returned. He knew exactly what they meant but wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Not yet.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Boyle was undaunted. "We don't think either one of you can hold out much longer."

So, Greg thought, it had changed from _who_ to _when_. It had become clear over the last few weeks that _who_ was a foregone conclusion. The boys were convinced, by merit of Kate turning them down repeatedly, that she wasn't interested in any of them and only had eyes for him.

Privately, Greg thought the assumption of any heavy romancing was a little presumptive. The most physical thing the two of them had done so far was splash around in the water, although the timing of that afternoon's horseplay had been perfect. He owed Dee Ryan a favor for orchestrating the whole thing and made a mental note to send the girl a bottle of the 214's finest. Casey said Dee appreciated good Scotch nearly as much as Kate. In any event, the romp on the beach had given him an opportunity to appreciate both Kate's company and her curves without any pressure of being alone together. And they were hardly ever alone together. That was part of the problem.

They'd had a few minutes the night he rubbed the charley horse out of her leg but he'd kept that to himself. The guys would have a field day with it if they found out and he wasn't about to set her up for that degree of torment. Not that she couldn't handle it, he didn't doubt that. But because he didn't think she should have to.

There were the nightcaps – now routine - which the boys did know about. And the random miscellaneous ways he kept inventing to spend time with her. Which the boys knew about, too, because someone was always interrupting them. If he ever wanted to be truly alone with her, he'd have to take her somewhere away from the base. Or completely _off_ the base.

"What are you waitin' on, Greg?" Jim drawled. "We all seen the way she looks at you. You ask and she ain't gonna tell you no. Hell, you don't even have to ask. Turn on that Boyington charm and you could have her wherever you wanted."

"I foresee a night of heated passion soon," Anderson said.

"What else do you meatheads see in your crystal ball?" Greg asked, playing them out. They'd say things to him upstairs they wouldn't have the guts to throw at him once they landed.

"We figure since you ain't had any female company in a good long while, you'll be able to keep up with her," Jim said.

"At least at first," French added.

"Let us know if you need us to take care of her while you recover," TJ offered.

"You're gonna need a lot of stamina to keep up with a girl who looks like that, Pappy," Boyle said.

"Damnit Boyle! Do I look dead to you?" Greg chuckled. The younger men were well aware of his reputation with the opposite sex but they never missed a chance to remind him of his age. They took particular delight in it now since they'd decided it was only a matter of time before Kate ended up in his bed. He shook his head. Boys their age focused entirely too much on the physical act. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but the art of a deliberate seduction began a long time before the clothes ever came off. And by doing so, yielded a degree of pleasure few of them had realized.

"Not yet, but I bet after she gets her hands on – "

"Knock it off, don't you know better than to talk about a lady that way?" he snarled in mock annoyance. "Try thinking with your other heads for once. Maybe you'd get more than one date that way."

As the planes came in for landing at La Cava, he allowed himself a slow, private smile. He had a few things in mind and he wouldn't rush them. Although the thought of her in his arms, warm bare skin against his, made him wonder what the hell he was waiting for, too.

 **That same day, early evening**

Kate chanced a shower in the Black Sheep's facilities and was rewarded with rare privacy. She didn't mind the boys' presence but sometimes a girl liked to shower without being regaled with tales of conquest, either achieved or anticipated. She supposed she should feel flattered they felt comfortable enough around her not to censor their stories but sometimes, too much knowledge was, well, too much knowledge.

Putting away her shower things in her tent, she contemplated the rest of the evening. She desperately needed to write to Sarah. Her sister was a much better correspondent than she was. Her letters came with regularity, unlike Kate's hit and miss correspondence in return, proving once again that people in the communications field are often the worst communicators.

Kate knew a lot more about Sarah's job with Douglas Aircraft in southern California than Sarah knew about what Kate was doing in the Solomons. Kate thought might be for the best. Sarah was younger by two years and Kate felt a degree of responsibility for being a good role model. That was becoming increasingly easier said than done. She could only imagine Sarah's green-eyed surprise if she knew the reality of her assignment here. Having her leg massaged by the unit's CO while she was wearing little more than a towel and a smile was not exactly an easy thing to explain to her kid sister. She decided she wasn't even going to try.

Of course, all Sarah had to do was pick up a copy of any daily metro newspaper and find Kate's stories, so she felt a little better about that. Sarah might not know everything that was going on in her sister's personal life but her professional life tended to be splashed across the front page on a regular basis. Sarah would feel slighted if Kate didn't bring her up to date on her personal life, however. The two remained close, even though separated by thousands of miles.

Kate sighed. Maybe she would have time to knock out a letter before Greg showed up for a nightcap. The last time she'd seen him, he and Casey were immersed in stacks of paperwork that had both of them looking cross.

The nightcaps were a routine now. Sometimes Greg came to her tent, sometimes she went to his. Kate hadn't mentioned them to Dee, accidentally on purpose. She was pretty sure her friend's mind would be quick to create something out of nothing if she knew the amount of time she and Greg spent together in the evenings. It was always perfectly above board and if one of the other boys stopped by, which they often did, there was no hint of impropriety - just two people and a bull terrier, enjoying a drink or three at the end of the day and talking about the war.

There's nothing going on, she'd told Dee a few days ago. There wasn't, was there? Really? She appreciated his easy friendship and looked forward to their time together, any time of the day. Sure, he helped her with her stories but half the time, their conversation went off the rails and they ended up talking about things that had nothing to do with her formal assignment there.

If his smile was a little warmer and his laugh a little huskier than casual friendly conversation warranted, well, she wouldn't deny the undercurrent of . . . something . . . that twisted around her when she was near him. It wasn't like anything was actually going to happen in either of their tents, was it? She viewed both hers and Greg's tents as relative safe zones because they were nearly as public as the Sheep Pen in terms of foot traffic. There was always someone coming or going. As long as the other boys were around, she felt safe.

Safe. Ha. That was completely the wrong word. She never felt threatened by him. Far from it. The closer he was, the better she liked it and she suspected he knew it. The only safety issue that arose was her own unpredictable reaction when he looked at her. A grin, a wink or God forbid, the casual brush of his hand, and her emotional response teetered dangerously close to becoming physical. If she was driving him crazy, he was returning the favor.

There was nothing going on.

Who was she kidding?

There _could_ be something going on. She could hear Dee's voice. The implication was clear. There _would_ be something going on if she would let it.

Spending time with Greg – in the Sheep Pen, on the flight line, in one another's quarters - was slowly starting to pull her heart out of the tangled emotional mess that haunted her since England, but some part of her still shied away from any sort of involvement. Sort of. She wasn't exactly holding him at arm's length.

She sat down at her desk and rolled a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter.

 _Dearest Sarah, I apologize again for not writing more often. This new unit has come with a learning curve and is not without its distractions (more on those later). The living conditions are a little rough, hours are unpredictable and the unit is absolutely fascinating. You wouldn't believe some of the things that go on here. It seems no matter how often I sit down to write you, someone interrupts -_

On cue, Greg knocked on her tent frame and walked in. She looked up, puzzled. He was earlier than usual for a nightcap. The sun was barely beginning to set.

"You know," she said, "it's customary to wait for permission after you knock, in case the person doesn't want to see you."

"I didn't think you would tell me no, Cameron." The tone of his voice should have been a warning but that grin knocked her defenses into rubble without giving her a chance.

He was right, she thought, but he didn't need to act so damned sure.

"That depends on what you're going to ask," she said.

"Put your boots on and let's go."

"What's up?" She was immediately intrigued.

"You ask too many questions. And you're really bad at obeying orders, anyone ever tell you that?"

Kate looked at him suspiciously. His smile was open and unguarded. In fact, he looked entirely too pleased for her comfort. There was something about that smile. There was always something about that smile. If he ever understood what he could do to her with just a look, she was in trouble.

"It's my job to ask questions," she said with growing suspicion, but rummaged for the socks she'd just taken off, tied up her boots and followed him.

"Get in." He motioned to the jeep parked in front of her tent.

"What -?"

He held up a hand.

"Will you stop with the questions? Get in."

She got in, still protesting.

"I can't stop with the questions. Every time I'm around you, you do things that make me ask questions."

He answered her with a grin.

Within minutes they pulled up on the flight line. Hutch brandished a wrench in greeting.

"Your bird's ready to go, Pappy." He winked at Kate.

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. No. Absolutely hell no. For all that the Corsairs were large, they were a lot smaller than a C-47 and that was about the smallest aircraft she could tolerate.

"Thanks, Hutch. Get out of the jeep, Cameron."

She froze in place.

"No! Anything you have to say to me, you can say it on the ground," she sputtered. "I am not getting in that plane."

Greg took her wrists. She resisted but he pulled her out effortlessly. His fingers were hard and warm on her skin and her pulse quickened.

"This isn't about talking." A slow smile creased his face. Kate's stomach tumbled.

"No!" she protested. "Hutch! Help me!"

"Have fun, kids!" The mechanic waved without turning around as he walked away. "Don't stay out too late."

"I'm not getting in that plane," she repeated, still trying to pull free. Greg didn't let go. She fought anyway, on the principle of the thing. It didn't work any better than the day she fought against being carried into the water.

"What do you have against flying?"

"It's a flaw in my otherwise sparkling personality," she said, desperately trying to scramble backward. She couldn't move. He held her so easily it was ridiculous.

"If that's the only one, I can deal with it." The humor in his voice was chipping away at her resolve.

"There's not enough room for both of us in there."

Greg let go of her wrists and put a hand on each of her shoulders. She should have bolted. She couldn't move.

"Sweetheart, neither one of us is that tall. We'll fit."

Reaching behind her into the jeep, he pulled out a mae west and tossed it over her head.

"Do you want me to fasten the straps or do you want to?"

"You're crazy, you know that? Totally bat-crap crazy."

He was laughing openly now.

"I'll take that as a yes." He slapped her thigh and when she moved away indignant, he stepped behind her and reached between her knees to grab the webbing. With a practiced move, he hooked it, then snagged his own life vest from the jeep.

"Up." He jerked a thumb toward the wing and cupped his hands.

"No. I'll get in your way." Her voice was barely a whisper. She was trembling now and didn't know if it was from fear or something else.

Greg sighed.

"Getting in my way hasn't bothered you before, why the sudden attack of conscience?"

Kate's mind was spinning. She backed up hard against the wing and there was no room to move. Greg was so close he had to be able to hear her heart pounding. He scanned her face, lips curved in obvious amusement.

"You're really scared, aren't you? Of the plane? Or of me?" His voice was low.

She poked him in the chest with a forefinger.

"I'm not scared . . . I just don't like flying. It's . . . uncomfortable." She paused, then added, "And I'm not scared of you."

He reached up and closed his hand over hers, which had somehow attached itself to the front of his shirt.

"Come up with me, Cameron. I guarantee it won't be uncomfortable." The way he was looking at her promised she'd be trading one level of discomfort for another. He didn't need to know that. She glared at him.

"I'll get in this plane on one condition."

"Are you negotiating terms of surrender?"

"I'm not negotiating anything," she said defiantly. "We do this on my terms or we don't do it."

He broke out laughing.

"God, I hope you're not like this about everything."

The look on his face left her knees trembling. She was glad to feel the warm metal of the plane pressing against her back. She wasn't sure she could stand on her own.

Greg sighed.

"Name your condition."

"Use my first name."

It was a simple thing but it was driving her crazy. No one here ever called her K.C. The other boys called her Kate or Katie. Anderson insisted on calling her Katherine. Jim called her darlin' almost exclusively. But Greg only called her Cameron. Or sweetheart, which wasn't too bad, although he was usually being sarcastic when he said it. She wanted to hear him use her given name.

He didn't answer. Instead, he tipped her chin up with one hand, their faces now inches apart. His fingers were gentle and the unexpected intimacy took her breath away.

"Do you trust me?"

She drew a shaky breath.

"Yes." It came out as a whisper. It was that simple. She trusted him.

"Then up." He cupped his hands and lowered them. She stepped into them, he tossed her onto the wing and scrambled up after her. After he swung into the cockpit, she hesitated. He tapped the side of the plane.

"Let's go, Cameron, I'm not getting any younger."

Damn him, now he was doing it on purpose.

"You're impossible."

"I think we've established that. Are you coming with me or not?"

She clenched her teeth and swung in after him. His hands closed around her waist, their warmth sending electricity sparking through her as he guided her down. He was right. They both fit. After a few awkward moments to get her feet and legs out of his way, Kate settled herself comfortably, or as comfortably as she was likely to get, on his lap. Her heart throat was dry. Greg flipped the ignition switch. The engine coughed and died.

"Would it help if I got out and pushed?"

"Smart ass." He slapped her thigh, then wrapped his left arm around her waist. She leaned into the embrace without thinking, caught herself, tensed, relaxed. The heat of his arm pressing against her felt unexpectedly natural. He kicked the starter over again and this time the powerful motor roared to life. Sliding the canopy shut, he swung the plane out and lined up with the airstrip.

Kate closed her eyes.

 **XXX**

 _This was insanity. And further proof that Greg had managed to override any good sense I ever had. I meant it – anything he had in mind, we could have done on the ground. Anything. The airplane was an excuse to drive me even crazier and I'd played right into his hands. The only good thing about this was that sitting on his lap meant I wasn't giving the whole flying thing a lot of thought. There's only so much a girl's mind can handle at once. - KCC_

 **XXX**

In the Sheep Pen, the men paused in their poker game as a plane roared overhead.

"Who's that?" Bob Anderson asked. It was unusual, although not unheard of, for anyone to go up this late in the day.

"Greg," Jim said. "He had Hutch do some fine tuning on his bird. Guess he took it up for a check ride."

Bob looked around.

"Where's Katherine?" Kate frequently hung out in the Sheep Pen in the early evening, working on an angle for her next story or chatting with the guys.

Jim cleared his throat.

"She's with Greg."

"But you said he – " Bob looked puzzled.

"I did. He did. She is."

"He took her up in his plane?" TJ was incredulous. "He hates it when we do that with the nurses."

"If you haven't noticed, Greg ain't much in the habit of asking permission."

"Huh. I don't think she likes flying much. Wonder how he got her in there."

Jim chuckled.

"He can be pretty persuasive when he sets his mind to it."

TJ folded his hand.

"Hey Boyle," he shouted across the room to where Bobby Boyle was lobbing darts. "I'm changing my bet. Move my date up by a week."

"Mine, too," Jim said. "Once Greg gets serious about this, she ain't gonna hold out much longer."

 **XXX**

Kate's stomach plummeted as the Corsair overcame gravity and the world dropped out from under them. The sensation of parting from solid ground left her heart thudding against her ribs so hard it was almost painful.

"Kate." Greg's voice sounded in her ear. "Open your eyes."

She did. Her heart skipped a beat, both at hearing her name on his lips and at the spectacular view spread around them. The sky was cloudless as the sun started to sink over the horizon. Everything was tinged orange and pink, rimmed with azure. Sun polished the plane's wings to a glow and at this altitude, even the air seemed gilded. Below them, La Cava was a smudge against dark blue water. Kate swallowed. Looking down was not a good idea.

"You all right?"

"I'll live."

He chuckled. She would have slapped him if there'd been room to turn around. She settled for elbowing him gently.

"Don't you dare laugh at me."

"What is it exactly you don't like about flying?" he asked, dropping the right wing and pulling her close as she tipped toward him, his arm firm around her waist.

"All of it. The taking off part. The climbing part. The – eeep!"

He banked left, pulling her even closer as she slid slightly. The feel of his body against hers had taken her mind off the immediate crisis of being in a plane but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Stop that! What's wrong with just flying level?"

"Level is boring." He put the plane into a climb. It responded with an immediate surge of power, pushing her back against him. Her hands clenched on his left arm and she was entirely too conscious of his breath, warm against her neck.

"Boyington, when we get back on the ground, I'm going to kill you."

He alternated between banking right and left, the plane dipping and rising through the molten light.

"So you want me to use your first name but you won't use mine? It works both ways, sweetheart." He leveled off. "Are you even breathing?"

"Barely."

"Oh, Katie, you are something else." He was laughing openly now, not even trying to hide it.

Her stomach did a slow roll. Just hearing him say her name launched a dozen sensations that had nothing to do with flying. She moaned softly, then bit her lip.

"You aren't going to be sick are you?"

"No. I'm fine. But I mean it. I'm going to kill you. How did I let you talk me into this?"

"It really didn't take much. If I'd known you were going to be that easy, I would have asked a long time ago."

"I am not easy!" She closed her eyes and pressed a hand across the bridge of her nose. "And you didn't really ask. You just . . . sort of . . . ordered."

Greg's fingers squeezed lightly along her ribs.

"Keep your eyes open. The sunset is beautiful."

"It would be just as beautiful from the beach."

"I'll remember that."

His voice was as molten as the light. She was trembling, fine tremors running just below her skin. She wasn't sure when the half-panicked adrenaline rush of flying had turned into the ignition of a slow burn that had nothing to do with being in an airplane and everything to do with being in an airplane with him.

He dropped the Corsair into a gentle dive and Kate gasped with the sudden jolt of weightlessness.

"Have you had enough?" He wasn't talking about flying and she knew it.

"No." She gritted her teeth. The pressure of his body against hers was a delicious torment. As much as she hated flying she didn't want this to end.

"Good." He leveled out, then put the plane through a series of maneuvers that left her both dizzy and exhilarated. She relaxed enough to stop going rigid every time they changed directions. She caught the rhythm of his feet and hands, guiding the plane's motion, and adjusted her balance to accommodate his movements. Outside the canopy, the world was a blaze of orange-tinged magenta smeared with violet and indigo. The speed, the light, the sensation of being in such confined quarters with him, the warmth of that hand, resting on her thigh -

"Still worried you're going to die up here?" His voice cut through her thoughts.

"Yes." She wasn't letting him off that easily.

"Liar. Your breathing is back to normal." He tickled the back of her knee.

"You keep doing that and it won't stay that way."

A low laugh.

"You're really not good at this."

"At what?"

"Pretending you hate flying."

"I do hate flying. I just don't hate . . . you."

"Nice. Still want to kill me for bringing you up here?"

"Not until you get me back on the ground in one piece."

As they circled back toward the island, Kate thought she felt his lips against the back of her neck, brushing along her hairline, ever so briefly. She caught her breath, uncertain. Then the sensation was gone, leaving only its memory on her skin, and he was guiding the plane in for landing.

She kept her eyes open as the wheels touched down, although she stopped breathing at about 500 feet. Greg spun the plane back onto the flight line where Casey was waiting, drumming his hands impatiently on the jeep's steering wheel.

"Whatever you had in mind, looks like it'll have to wait until later," Greg said as he killed the engine and pushed the canopy back. His hands were light on her waist as he guided her out. She waited on the wing while he climbed down, then let him lift her to the ground.

Casey cleared his throat.

"General Moore is on the horn for you, Pappy," he said. "I told him you were up on a, ah, test ride. He said he'd keep the channel open." Grinning at Kate, he added, "Hey Katie, how was it? Nothing like a little one on one at five angels, huh?"

"Don't you start!" she glared. "I thought you were nice."

He laughed.

"I am nice. Ask Dee."

 **XXX**

In the com shack, Greg picked up the receiver.

"Yes, General, what can I do for you?"

General Thomas Moore's gravelly voice boomed through the line. Kate could hear him from where she was leaning against the door.

"Greg, I just got back from two weeks in Washington and found Colonel Lard coming unglued about this Cameron fellow he's posted with you. Personally, I've read his stuff and I don't see any problem but you know Lard. He's up to his eyeballs in Congressmen right now, so I told him I'd come over to La Cava and see what this fellow is all about. It won't be for a while, heaven knows I've got enough to keep me busy here, but you might want to give the guy a heads up about Lard. I know how those correspondents get when they think you're trying to push them around."

"Yes, sir, so do I."

"You tell him he's doing a fine job, no matter what's crawled up Lard's butt and died. The 214 looks good and that kind of press is well-received in the states. How's he getting along over there? Your bunch of renegades tends to be hard on the press corps."

Greg's eyes never left Kate's.

"Just fine sir, he seems to like it here better by the day. We'll look forward to your visit."

He broke the connection.

"We're gonna have company one of these days," he said. "You'll get to meet the guy who's been running interference for me with Lard since the start of the Black Sheep. Keep that in mind and try to be on your best behavior, Cameron." The look in his eyes told her he wasn't thinking about General Moore.

"I'm always on my best behavior," Kate said.

 **XXX**

 _If Casey hadn't been waiting on the airstrip, I'm not sure how the evening would have ended. Maybe it was for the best that he was there when we landed. I'd more than stepped across Kate's line in the sand that evening and we were both still in one piece. I took that as a good sign. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **The next afternoon, Sheep Pen**

Thirteen years wasn't a big deal.

Kate sat with a stack of photos in front of her, idly putting cropping marks on them before sliding them into the envelope for the courier. At the bar, Greg was deep in discussion with Casey. They'd started working on a black market deal after the mission de-brief 30 minutes ago and were still at it. She let her eyes drift over his backside, a view she never failed to admire when the opportunity presented itself. She followed the width of his shoulders down to his waist, imagining the ripple of muscle under fabric. The curve of his hip was particularly pleasing to the eye as he shifted to study whatever Casey was pointing at.

 _He's 35. He's your CO for as long as you're posted here. You have no business getting involved with him beyond a working relationship._

 _Oh shut up._ She mentally shoved her conscience into a box and slammed the lid.

What did years matter? The age difference faded when she was around him. All it took was a look, a word, and she was drawn helplessly into his power. It didn't matter that she didn't want to get involved with another man right now. It had become too late for that at about 2,000 feet yesterday evening. She was involved, all right.

Kate picked up a photo of Hutch and Micklin, studied it, laid it down without marking it. Her mind refused to cooperate.

She didn't know _how_ involved she was. The fact she'd gotten into an airplane with him without being drugged or tied up probably said it all. God. Men were confusing. Her mind slid back to the brush of his lips along her neck. Had she imagined that? No, there was no imagining something like that. Her body tingled at the memory.

"Enjoying the view?"

Kate jumped as Dee sat down next to her. She hadn't even heard the door open.

"What? I - ," she started, then regrouped, looked back to the bar. "Do you blame me?"

"Mmmmm," Dee replied. "Not one bit. It takes a special kind of skill to make a flight suit look that good."

Kate grinned. Dee had caught her fair and square. No wonder she was such a lousy poker player.

Casey looked up, saw Dee, smiled in greeting. Greg shifted, turning to look their way.

"Ladies," he said.

"Don't you pay us no never mind," Dee said, "just go back to whatever it is you're doing up there." She wiggled her fingers for him to turn back around. Kate could tell she was biting her lip to keep a straight face. Greg shook his head and leaned back over the bar, flight suit taut over the muscle of his hips.

"There. Don't say I never did anything for you," Dee said. "When are you going to do something about that?"

"About what?"

"About getting your hands on that?"

"Dee Ryan!" It came out louder than she intended.

At the bar, both men looked up. Dee dissolved in giggles. Kate recovered first.

"As you were," she said briskly, tone innocent. She glared at Dee and lowered her voice. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Oh come on, the two of you are so attracted to each other you can't stand it. I don't know what's taking you so long."

"And what would you have me do about it?"

"Really, Kate? Do I have to spell it out? The beach? Going up with him in his bird?. Bet he took your mind off how much you hate flying. I bet he'd take your mind off a few other things, too, if you'd give him a chance."

Kate looked scandalized.

"You sound like Gutterman!" She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "He doesn't like the press corps, remember?"

"I'd say he's gotten over that. Besides, he doesn't see the press corps when he looks at you. Honestly Katie, the air temperature goes up every time the two of you are in the same room. Don't make this more complicated than it needs to be."

"It's not complicated. We're just friends." Even as she said it, the words thinned and blew away like smoke in the wind. They were beyond simple friendship now and she knew it.

"Yeah." Dee drew the word out into at least four syllables. "How long are you going to keep believing that? Honestly, you don't have to marry him – just, you know, let a guy show you a good time. How long's it been?"

"None of your business! You have a one-track mind. No wonder Casey always has a smile on his face."

Dee narrowed her eyes.

"Katherine Christine, you are the most oblivious girl I know. A man like Greg looks at you the way he does and you pretend you're just friends? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Kate shifted uncomfortably.

"What's wrong with me?" she hissed. "I'll tell you what's wrong with me – there is no privacy around here. Last night I took a shower and spent most of the time talking with Don about the newspapers I worked for back in the States. TJ nearly walked in on me changing clothes this morning when he stopped to tell me about the briefing. It doesn't matter what I do – those boys end up in the middle of it. There's only so much I'm willing to share."

"I imagine Greg knows a few places the two of you wouldn't get interrupted."

"Yeah. Outdoors? On the beach? Like _that_ has privacy written all over it." Kate's voice reflected her skepticism.

"It's very private!" Dee lowered her voice. "And making love outdoors is . . ." She trailed off, shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is. Until one of the guys walks into the middle of it."

"Oh ye of little faith."

Footsteps heralded the men's approach. Kate rearranged her expression into something she hoped looked suitably innocent.

"Preaching a sermon, sweetie?" Casey bent to kiss the top of Dee's head.

"Preaching to the choir." Dee fixed Kate with a knowing look.

"Funny, neither of you look like choir girls," Greg said.

Dee burst into laughter and Casey joined her although it was clear he didn't get the joke. Kate glared at all three of them.

 **XXX**

 _I meant what I said - Greg and I were friends. I valued his opinion and appreciated his help. He was always there when I needed him and frequently when I didn't. All the boys were making this assignment more than I'd ever imagined but he was going beyond that. If he would have stayed out of my dreams, I might have been able to deny the fact that our friendship was changing into something more than sharing nightcaps and story ideas. But when a man like that shows up in your dreams, you really can't ignore him. You really can't ignore a man like that any other time, either. - KCC_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Another Black Sheep party**

" _A man's kiss is his signature." Mae West_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Don French got his fifth kill to make ace during a routine bomber escort over Bougainville. As soon as the squadron came within radio contact on their return to La Cava, Greg called with the news and Kate was waiting for them on the airstrip with her camera. There was a great deal of whooping and back-thumping when the men landed and the raucous high spirits carried the group to the Sheep Pen for continued celebrating.

It couldn't have happened at a better time. While morale wasn't exactly lagging, the boys had been flying a brutal schedule of missions that left them all worn thin. Don's fifth kill and the promise of an official celebration party was a welcome respite for the unit.

On the same mission, Jerry took a hit that fatally crippled his bird. He nursed it long enough to get over friendly waters, then bailed. Air-sea rescue confirmed they'd fished him out of the drink, wet and bruised and happy to see them. It would be 24 hours before he could get back to the 214 so Don's party was postponed until the following night.

"That gives us more time to convince the nurses this will be the social event of the year," TJ said. Kate, who had attended every single one of the Black Sheep's social events since her arrival, wondered how it could possibly top some of their recent bashes.

Don's father, a New Jersey newspaper publisher, cabled to say he was sending a photographer and reporter to get his son's story. Don replied and told him to save his money, K.C. Cameron would handle it. Duly impressed, the senior French agreed, thinking the only thing as notable as having a fighter ace in his family was having the story about him written by a popular Associated Press war correspondent.

 **XXX**

 _Sometimes, you just get lucky. I'm sure Jerry didn't think so when he got splashed but the 24-hour delay before Don's party was just what I needed. I got on the horn to a guy on Espritos who is an absolute wizard at finding odd things in the middle of a war. What I needed wouldn't come cheap but it was going to be worth it. She was worth it. - GB_

 **XXX**

Kate swung her legs off her bunk. She yawned and checked her watch. 1700 hours. She'd been asleep since early afternoon, dozing through the heat of the day. She'd gotten up at 0400 that morning. The day before that, it had been 0300. Getting up before dawn to see the squadron off was becoming part of her daily routine and all the coffee in the Marine Corps wasn't enough to make up for the interrupted sleep.

She didn't really have to do it but since she'd been at the 214, they hadn't lost a pilot. There'd been some near misses and like Jerry, a few of them had needed shark repellant, but they'd all come back in one piece. The boys had started thinking of her as their good luck charm and she was more than happy to support this superstition, even if it meant losing sleep.

She juggled information gathering, writing, editing, photography and deadlines, plus doing the squadron's darkroom work, with ruthless efficiency. Like most of the boys, she was adept at sleeping anywhere and anytime the opportunity presented itself.

Her story list grew by the day. Colonel Lard called for her several times and was under the impression K.C. Cameron was busy interviewing injured pilots at the hospital, so she decided it might be in her best interest to actually produce stories on that topic. That turned into a series about base personnel who were in the hospital for a variety of reasons, then stories on the nurses and doctors themselves. Her coverage of the 214 expanded to include the entire island.

She finished the profile piece on TJ and was working her way through a feature on Micklin. Getting him to talk hadn't been a problem. Getting him to shut up had been, and as she wrote, she was editing carefully to avoid some of his saltier language. Now she had Don's story to write. At Greg's suggestion, she started gathering information before he took down his fifth enemy fighter, so she had the backgrounding well in hand. Now that his ace status was confirmed, she needed to sit down with him for a more thorough interview.

In the meantime, she looked forward to celebrating this milestone in his career, although a wild night of drinking and dancing was probably the last thing she needed. She needed eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Smothering a yawn, she opened her notebook and sat down at her typewriter to log a couple of hours of work before the party.

 **XXX**

 _They say there is a season for everything and a time for every purpose under Heaven. Dee told me more than once that I needed to pay more attention to what was happening right under my nose but like usual, I brushed her off as being too interested in match-making. Yeah, I enjoyed Greg's company in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with reporting on the war but living in that fishbowl of a base made me reluctant to encourage anything. If I'd known how that evening was going to end, I would have signed off on work for the day right then and grabbed a few more hours of shut-eye. Of course, if I'd known how the evening was going to end, I wouldn't have been able to sleep. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Kate returned from evening mess to find the box waiting on her bunk. The cardboard package was tied with string, the word "Cameron" scrawled across one corner. Underneath was a muddy paw print.

Baffled, Kate untied the strings. She lifted the lid and brushed aside a layer of tissue paper to reveal a black cocktail dress. A handwritten note nestled against the fabric read, "For tonight. I owe you one. Meatball." She recognized the bold strokes of Greg's handwriting.

Breathless, she lifted the dress out of the box. It shimmered in the rays of early evening sun slanting into her tent. Kate had no idea what kind of fabric it was – fashion had never been her thing – but it was as light as a summer breeze and glistened with the blue-black sheen of a raven's wing. It was simply cut, with cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice and flared skirt. It was the kind of dress that brought to mind visions of candlelight reflecting off crystal as couples floated across a dance floor. It was the kind of dress that was designed to showcase its wearer. She swallowed hard. Where in the world had he come up with this? The day's fatigue vanished.

 **XXX**

 **Nurses' quarters**

"Do you have any shoes I can borrow?" Kate asked. She tied the belt on Dee's bathrobe and finished toweling her hair. The box with the dress lay unopened on her friend's bed.

"You need to borrow more than shoes," Dee observed, looking at the fatigues and frayed shirt Kate had folded neatly atop the dress box. "What have you got in there, brand new trousers? Maybe you need some new work boots to go with them?"

Kate opened the box.

"I need heels to go with this."

Dee's eyes went wide. She lifted the dress out and held it at arm's length.

"This is stunning! Where . . . ?"

"Greg sent it." Kate couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Technically, Meatball sent it. I think it's an apology for ruining my clothes the first night I was here."

"Greg sent you this?" Dee looked at her appraisingly. "Oh sweetie, you're gonna need more than shoes. What about foundations? What about your hair?"

Kate waved her away.

"I don't need all that, just shoes. Maybe Laura has something I can borrow?"

Dee huffed in exasperation.

"Of course you need all that. You can't wear a dress like this without all that. Has it really been that long since you've been to a party?"

Kate snorted.

"I live with the Black Sheep, every night's a party."

"Then it's time they see you in something besides fatigues and boots."

"Most of them would be happy to see me out of fatigues and boots," Kate muttered.

"Where did he get something like this?" Dee breathed. She found a hanger and hung the dress on the back of the door.

"The man stole an entire squadron when he formed the Black Sheep. He runs a thriving black market in Scotch and hand grenades," Kate said. "I guess finding a cocktail dress wasn't too hard."

Dee studied her with a calculating look.

"Are you sure there's not more going on than you're telling me?"

Now it was Kate's turn to be exasperated.

"We spend a lot of time together. I mean, I'm with the squadron 24/7."

She and Greg _did_ spend a lot of time together. In the Sheep Pen. In the darkroom. On the flight line. Endless consults about stories she was writing. Nightcaps in her tent. Nightcaps in his tent. The afternoon frolic on the beach. The terrifying intimacy of that plane ride.

"The squadron did not send you that dress," Dee said pointedly. "Greg did and I don't think it has anything to do with your _working_ _relationship_ or whatever you're calling it this week. So don't tell me there's nothing going on."

"There's nothing going on," Kate said automatically, just to see her friend's expression.

"Katherine Christine! I hope you don't play poker with that face," Dee said. "Of course there's something going on. And if you show up at that party in this dress, I'm guessing it's finally going to happen and then you can quit pretending you two aren't involved."

Dee had nailed it. If Kate walked into the party wearing the dress he'd given her, she would be playing right into his arms. Yeah. Like that would be a problem.

"Just find me a pair of heels I can borrow for evening. And stop worrying about where I'm sleeping." She smothered a yawn. "If anything happens, you'll be the first to know. And Casey. And Jim, TJ, Don, Anderson – "

Dee interrupted her.

"Honestly, Kate, it's possible to find privacy around here. Not everyone will know what you're doing."

Oh yes they will, Kate thought. She knew things done in private had an alarming way of not staying private.

"Privacy for doing is only half the problem," she said. "You're not having breakfast with 20 of Casey's closest buddies the morning after you've been burning up the beach."

"We don't always go to the beach," Dee said with a quiet smile. "Sometimes we come here."

"Here? Seriously?" Kate knew about the beach rendezvous – those were certainly no secret – and she knew the boys spent a tremendous amount of time trying to get into the nurses' quarters after hours. She didn't realize they actually succeeded. Well, she supposed that had been naïve. Where there was a will, there was a way and the Black Sheep certainly had the will.

"Yes. Seriously." Dee held up a finger. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

She returned within minutes. Laura and Ellen, ready for the party in colorful civilian dresses, were with her, carrying several pair of high heeled shoes, some lacy undergarments and a variety of hairstyling implements. Dee announced, "Wave your magic wands, girls, we've got work to do."

Kate was not against dressing stylishly, she'd just gotten out of the habit since coming to La Cava. After weeks in her casual working attire, with no makeup and minimal hair styling, this seemed like a tremendous amount of fuss. Dee, Laura and Ellen insisted she start from the ground up. After a flurry of trying on lingerie behind a privacy screen, she decided on a set of lacy black under-things the others assured her would complement the lines of the dress.

Kate put her foot down when it came to offers of silk stockings. She knew how dear they came to the girls and felt guilty enough about borrowing the matching bra and panties from Laura.

"It's the tropics," Kate argued. "No one in their right mind would wear stockings in this heat."

"All right," Dee said grudgingly. "I guess with legs like yours you can get by with it."

"And they're just one more thing to take off," Ellen said practically.

Kate shot her a look, then dropped the dress over her head and tugged it into place. Dee zipped her up.

The fabric hugged her curves like it had been cut for her alone. The neckline plunged with subtle daring and the dark glow emphasized her tawny rose coloring. Kate slipped on a pair of black heels and spun in place.

"Wow," Laura said. "What did you do to deserve that dress?"

"She hasn't done it," Dee winked. "Yet."

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Mmmm, that man has delicious taste," Ellen said. "You are going to look stunning on his arm tonight." She waved Kate toward a chair. "Now sit."

"Is this really necessary?" Kate protested as Ellen plunked her into the chair in front of the dressing table.

"Of course it's necessary!" Dee chided her while Ellen ran her fingers through Kate's hair, tipping her head one way, then another, making thoughtful faces.

"When was the last time you did more with your hair than braid it?" Dee continued. "You spend all your days chasing around after pilots and planes and all you think about is your next story. It's time you think about something else tonight. Sit still, Ellen knows what she's doing. You never see her hair in a braid, do you? And Anderson's always got a smile on his face."

Kate gave up. She couldn't remember the last time her toilette had gone beyond showering and washing her hair. As long as her clothes were clean and more or less in one piece, she didn't give what she was wearing a second thought. It was funny, how easily she'd let go of old habits. In England, she wouldn't have dreamed of leaving her flat without putting on her face and fixing her hair first. Half the time these days, she was still lacing her boots or buttoning her shirt when she grabbed her camera and bolted out of the tent.

She sat impatiently as Ellen combed and curled and twisted and sprayed. Laura and Dee made useful comments. Most of them revolved around how long it would take Greg to get her out of that dress and what was likely to happen then. Twenty minutes later, Ellen put down her comb. Kate's sun-streaked hair was caught into up-do with a few curls trailing down her neck. At the girls' insistence, Kate added a little mascara, a hint of blusher and a touch of lipstick. Dee looked her over.

"You'll do," she said with a critical eye. Softening, she took Kate's hands. "You look lovely. Greg doesn't stand a chance tonight. As if he ever did."

"That's not the point of tonight," Kate protested with a certainty she didn't feel. "It's Don's party, that's all."

She'd been asking herself that same question since she opened the dress box in her tent. What exactly _was_ the point of tonight? She'd gone to plenty of parties at the Sheep Pen without a brand new dress, let alone three other girls making sure she was wearing the appropriate lingerie and styling her hair and makeup to perfection. It wasn't like the party was a formal date. Greg wasn't picking her up or taking her out to dinner or anything like that. Of course, that would have been a traditional thing to do and nothing about their relationship – working or otherwise – came close to traditional. They would just be attending the same party together. And she would be wearing a knockout of a dress he'd sent her. She was trying hard not to think about the implications of accepting his gift.

"I think the point of tonight is that he's going to make his claim," Dee said. "Your days of acting like nothing is going on are over."

"The man knows how to make a statement," Ellen said. "Just look at that dress. His fingerprints are all over you."

"If they aren't now, I bet they will be before the night's over," Laura said. She grew serious. "Um, Katie, you know how that sort of thing works, right? I mean, you've . . . you know . . . before?"

Kate didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"Yes!" She choked back a laugh. "Thank you for your concern but I know how that sort of thing works!"

"I wasn't sure," Laura protested. "You've done such a good job of staying out of holding those boys at arm's length, we kind of wondered if you were still a virgin."

"No," Kate said, blushing now. "It's just . . . been a while."

"Then you've got lost time to make up for," Ellen said. "And you can come tell us all about it tomorrow."

Dear Lord, Kate thought, they're just as bad as the Black Sheep.

Dee pulled open the drawer on her bedside table.

"Do you need - ?" She indicated the box of condoms inside.

"Dee! What the hell!" Kate couldn't form a complete sentence. There hadn't even been a first kiss yet and her friends already had her giving it up. "If it comes to that, I'm sure he'll have taken care of it."

"If? Katie, sweetie, there isn't any _if_." Dee was laughing. "There's only when." She studied Kate. "You are absolutely gorgeous and he's not going to be able to keep his hands off you. Don't do anything tonight I wouldn't do."

"That leaves it wide open then, doesn't it?" Kate grinned. She _was_ having breakfast with the Black Sheep every morning and although they usually changed the subject as soon as she sat down, the boys loved a detailed recounting of any romantic trysts. While a few of them were gentlemen who didn't kiss and tell, plenty of the others did. They didn't spare details.

"If you go to the beach, stay away from the really loose sand," Ellen advised. "It gets everywhere, even with a blanket. And I mean _everywhere_. Bobby and I learned that the hard way."

"It's really best if you go to the beach, don't stay on the base," Laura advised. "Sound carries like crazy here in the camp. Unless you're really good at being quiet. And a night with Greg?" She shook her head. "You're not going to be quiet."

"Make sure you pick up all your clothes before you go back to the base or Meatball will trot right into the mess hall with your bra in his mouth," Dee said. "Happened to me once, or at least that's what Casey told me."

"And make sure you take two blankets," Laura added. "It's warm out there now but it'll cool off by morning." She grinned. "I don't think you'll be coming back before then."

Kate closed her eyes and held up her hands.

"Stop. Let's just go," she said. "I can't take any more advice."

 **XXX**

 **Sheep Pen**

"Nurses are here!" TJ yelled as several jeeps pulled up in the twilight. He whistled appreciatively as female personnel piled out. "Hey, Bobby – Ellen's here! And Dee and Laura and, oooh, looks like there's a new girl with them. Will you look at that set of – "

Greg leaned from his spot at the bar to look out the window.

"Wiley, you need your eyes checked, no wonder you can't hit anything upstairs," he said. "That's Kate."

TJ did a double-take and hastily stepped out of Greg's range. He wasn't sure what was going on between his CO and Kate but he had a pretty good idea that observations about certain parts of her body, no matter how appreciative, might not be well received.

Outside, the girls were straightening dresses and making last minute touch-ups to their hair. Greg watched as Kate slid out of the jeep and smoothed her hands down her skirt, laughing with the girls at some unheard joke. She'd done something fancy with her hair that left the elegant lines of her neck bare, and the overall effect of her in something besides trousers and a work shirt was staggering. That black number played her slender curves to an advantage, accenting the swell of her breasts and long expanse of leg. His contact on Espritos had come through, all right. That dress had been worth every bit of the expense it had taken to get it here.

Jim followed his line of sight and let out a low whistle. He drained his whisky and set the glass down with finality.

"That little girl cleans up real nice."

"Noticed, did you?" Greg said drily.

"Hard not to notice that."

"Make sure noticing is all you do."

Jim held up his hands.

"She's all yours, although I still don't know what she wants with old man like you." He paused. "I reckon you're gonna find out tonight."

Greg wondered that, too, but he sure as hell wasn't arguing. He watched as Dee pointed a finger at Kate, indicating something on her upper body. Kate turned her back toward the Sheep Pen, clearly to adjust an undergarment. She turned back to Dee, who nodded approval. Even at this distance, he could tell Kate was rolling her eyes but she was smiling. He chuckled. It was a side of her he rarely saw, this deliberately feminine creature taking the time to fuss with hair and dress, not the reckless girl who'd flown at him in a fury of temper and torn clothing her first day on La Cava. She had as many facets as a diamond and he got the feeling he hadn't seen all of them yet.

Jim cleared his throat.

"Greg, as your executive officer, I believe it is my duty to assume command if the CO becomes incapacitated. You leave here with Katie tonight and you're gonna be seriously incapacitated by morning," he said with drawling mock seriousness. "You ain't gonna be able to walk, let alone fly. You might as well just turn command of this here unit over to me right now and be done with it."

"I appreciate your concern for my well-being," Greg said amiably, still watching the girls outside, "but we'll see who's incapacitated in the morning." He'd given some thought to potential ways the evening might end but he figured he'd just let it play out, savoring each minute, seeing where it took them.

"Jesus, Greg, I'm serious." Jim's grin indicated his degree of seriousness. "Just look at her. It's been nice knowing you."

Greg returned the grin.

"One of these days, Gutterman, you're going to meet a girl who'll mean more to you than a fast lay. I hope I'm around to see it."

"Yeah," Jim said, still laughing. "I hope you are, too."

 **XXX**

 _I'd been with girls her age before – they were almost as innocent as they acted. Too often they were willing but inexperienced, with no idea how to release the potential of either their own body or mine. When I looked at Kate, I knew that wasn't going to be the case. She wore that air of sexy self-confidence with the same style and grace she wore that dress and I had no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing. - GB_

 **XXX**

The clatter of high heels on the steps announced the girls' arrival and they entered the Sheep Pen to a wave of welcoming hoots and whistles. Kate found herself swept along with the tide as couples began to pair off for drinks or the dance floor. She turned to the table where Dee and Casey were waving for her to join them when a warm hand cradled her elbow. Electricity shot through her body as she turned.

"You look incredible," Greg said. His voice was for her ears only among the laughing, jostling crowd as his eyes traced a line of blue flame up and down her figure.

"Thank you," she managed. The flush of heat that surged through her had nothing to do with the warmth of the evening. He was in uniform. All the boys were in uniform, which was dazzling, but the reality of him in something besides a flight suit or fatigues as faded and worn as her own left her breathless.

"May I have this dance?"

She nodded wordlessly and he led her into the crush of couples on the dance floor. She slid into his arms, felt the warmth of his gaze.

"This dress is beautiful. Thank you for sending it. Or thank Meatball."

"It was my pleasure." His open admiration was like a caress. "Otherwise, I knew you'd show up in a T-shirt and trousers." He lowered his mouth closer to her ear. "Not that you don't make them look good, too, sweetheart, but you were made for this dress."

Kate was speechless. Flirting was as natural a part of their relationship as discussing military campaigns and black market deals. He had a way of catching her off guard but tonight his tone held an invitation of something more. She struggled to gather her scattered senses.

"I had help. Dee and her friends made sure I was presentable."

"They did a wonderful job." He slid a thumb along the lobe of her ear. "God, Kate, you are beautiful."

Her heart pounded and she felt the color rising in her cheeks but she couldn't hold back a smile.

"It's the dress," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Without it, it would just be me in work clothes."

"Without it, you'd be even more beautiful."

"Greg!" She laughed out loud. "You are out of line, Major!"

"I'll let you spend all night thanking me." He spun her lightly away, then pulled her back into his arms.

" _All_ night? Do you think you're up for that?"

"Now who's out of line?"

"Do you really think I'm that easy? Give me a pretty dress and I'll do anything you want?" She couldn't escape those eyes. The hot blue sparkle was taking her self-control apart, one deliberate piece at a time.

It was his turn to laugh.

"Cameron, there's nothing easy about you."

"How did you know my size?"

Greg's eyes ran over her again and the look in them was so molten, for a moment Kate thought she might go up in flames right there on the dance floor.

"Give me some credit. I've spent the last month thinking about your size." His hand squeezed her waist gently.

She threw back her head and laughed at the sheer pleasure of him. Elation rose through her, power and promise and an unquestionable rightness. She wasn't sure where this was going but she was sure of one thing – she was done fighting it. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, she gave up worrying about impropriety. Protocol be damned. She'd already broken so many regulations by being here, why stop now?

 **XXX**

It was a rip-roaring celebration. Don was the man of the hour and toasts to him were abundant. Kate found her glass filled and refilled. The jukebox kept the dance floor packed. She danced with all the boys in turn but Greg cut in so many times the other men eventually started to automatically spin her off to him after the first minute or so.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, when he handed her another tumbler of whisky.

"Sweetheart, I quit that a long time ago. It doesn't work." He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "I want you to make your own decisions tonight."

Before she could reply, Don cut in and Greg relinquished her as she joined Don and half a dozen nurses in an enthusiastic group version of a foxtrot. Then Greg re-claimed her and she was again floating in his arms, her hand light on his, his fingers warm against her waist as they danced from one number to the next. Finally, begging for a break, she sat down with Laura and Ellen. Greg excused himself. Dee and Casey were swaying against each other in a corner.

Harry James' "It's Been A Long, Long Time" came on the jukebox.

"Come on, darlin', they're playing our song." Jim appeared out of nowhere and reached for her hand.

"We don't have a song." She hadn't danced in heels for months and her feet ached. She would have been happy to sit this one out.

"If we had a song, this would be it. Will you dance with me for old time's sake?"

"We don't have any old times, either," she laughed but let him pull her out of the chair.

They made it one circuit around the dance floor before Greg cut in. Jim handed her over without argument and Kate slipped into his arms with a delicious sense of anticipation that grew stronger every time he touched her.

Jim immediately cut in on TJ who was dancing with Laura. He swung back next to them.

"Last chance to hand over the command to me," he said. "Either that, or one of us needs to keep track of you two so you don't do anything inappropriate." He drew out the last word with deliberate emphasis.

"If we need a chaperone, I'll ask for one," Greg said. "Are you still worrying about my health?"

"I'm worried about what will be left of you tomorrow." Jim turned to Kate. "Be gentle with him."

"Why don't you go worry about someone else?" Kate said pleasantly. She looked around the room. "Boyle looks like he could use someone to worry about him."

Boyle, indeed, was looking a little worse for the wear.

Jim ignored her.

"Hope you had a nap today, darlin', you may not get any sleep tonight."

"Who's not getting any sleep tonight?" Don glided past, arms full of a little strawberry blonde nurse. He looked at Kate, "Try to keep it down, you two, my tent is right between both of yours. Unless you go to the beach, then you can make all the noise you want. And Kate - we'll need him back in the morning. In one piece."

The girls with Jim and Don tried to look scandalized but their knowing smiles said otherwise, especially Laura's. Kate pressed her face against Greg's shoulder to muffle a laugh that threatened to turn into a yawn. Nothing was sacred with these boys. They clearly assumed the evening was going to end with her in his bed. Or somewhere.

She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her dress. So it had come to this – they'd done nothing more than dance together and his men were already teasing her about sleeping with him. They were as bluntly nonchalant about it as they were about the whole romance-on-the-beach concept.

Pulling back far enough to meet his eyes, she asked, "Are your men always so concerned about your health?"

"No," he said drily. "They usually don't give a damn. You seem to bring it out in them."

The tempo dropped, the slow rhythm of the music drifting over them like smoke. Some enterprising Black Sheep had taken the light bulbs out of the fixtures over the dance floor, sending the space into a soft twilight. Greg stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing a loose curl behind one ear. The gentleness of his touch ricocheted to the very center of her body. She wrapped both arms around his neck as his hands slid down to circle her waist. He smelled intoxicating, like soap and whisky and warm, clean male.

She was lost in him, the pressure of his touch, the rhythm of his breathing. The couples surrounding them faded into mist. It was just the two of them, alone together in a bubble of music and shadow. His eyes pulled her in with power she didn't even try to resist.

Greg lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was brief but not tentative and it sparkled through her body like bubbles through champagne. Even after weeks around him, even after taking him in her dreams, she was unprepared. Then his mouth took hers again and she was swept away in a deluge of heat and power and invitation. She met his demand, her lips parting under his, his tongue brushing hers. She was drowning in sensation, trembling from his impact, even as he pulled back. His lips trailed gently along her jaw to her ear.

"If we stay here, we'll have an audience." His voice was low. "Come with me?"

Her intake of breath was her unspoken consent.

He slipped an arm around her waist and they left the Sheep Pen.

 **XXX**

 _She hadn't said a word. She didn't need to. The look in those storm gray eyes after I kissed her told me everything I needed to know. And for just a minute, it had me thinking Jim might be right – I might not be able to get out of bed in the morning but that was a long way away. – GB_

 **XXX**

 _That kiss compressed everything I'd felt since my first night on La Cava into one crystal clear moment where we understood each other perfectly. - KCC_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Breakfast with the Black Sheep**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214**

 **Dawn**

Kate woke as pearl gray light crept into the base. She kept her eyes firmly closed and pressed an arm across her forehead as she rolled onto her back. She was surprisingly clear headed. In light of the amount she'd had to drink last night, she'd gotten off easy. The conditioning program of nonstop drinking with the Black Sheep had paid off. She imagined some of the revelers at Don's celebration were still in the Sheep Pen, draped over tables or sprawled on the floor. At least she'd made it to her bed.

She felt disoriented, like her head was where her feet should be, but as she dozed, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, the subtleties didn't seem worth pursuing. She stretched and something warm and solid pressed against her side. Eyes still shut, she reached out. Whiskers tickled her hand. A tail thumped lazily against her leg in response to her touch.

Her eyes flew open, staring at the dog. Meatball wiggled up and licked her on the ear. Sputtering, she shoved the terrier's nose out of her face. The dog was kind of crazy about her but he never left Greg's tent at night. What was he doing in hers?

With one hand on the dog like an anchor, she studied the familiar olive drab canvas above her head, still unable to pin down the source of her off-kilter feeling. A familiar military issue blanket was pulled across her legs. Her toes were sticking out of the end. She wiggled them. They ached pleasantly, stirring memories of dancing in heels for the first time in months. At least she'd had the sense to take her shoes off before collapsing into bed, even if she didn't remember doing it.

She did a quick mental inventory of her person. She was wearing . . . a dress? Oh. Yeah. _The_ dress. The skirt was rucked up to her hips and one sleeve had slid off her shoulder. Clearly not made to be slept in. Geez, had she been so far gone she hadn't even undressed before going to bed?

She continued her inventory. Meatball was curled up next to her. Her clothes were still on, more or less. Her shoes were off. Try as she might, she couldn't remember what she'd done with them. She hoped Laura wouldn't take their demise personally. The girl was probably getting tired of loaning her things she was never going to get back – bathing suits, lingerie and now shoes.

She still couldn't pin down the odd sense of disorientation. She rolled her head to the left, blinking in the pale light. Familiar mosquito netting. Everything was the same. Why did it feel different? She rolled her head to the right.

 _Oh bloody hell!_

The previous night came crashing back to her in exquisite, breathless detail. Her heart pounded and adrenaline shot through her system. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.

Greg was sleeping on his back on the floor next to her bunk, a pillow wedged under his head and a blanket slung low across his mid-section. He didn't appear to be wearing anything else. One arm was thrown to the side, the other resting across the lean plane of his torso. In spite of the adrenaline coursing through her system, Kate couldn't move. Transfixed, she watched him sleep, his face unguarded, the sculpted muscle of his body edged in shadow. She studied him, imagined slipping out of the dress and stretching out next to him, waking him as the dawn light wrapped them in shadow and heat. A faint smile played across his face, as though he were reading her thoughts.

 _Stop it_! She took a deep breath and held it. She had absolutely no idea why he was here. Waking up with a man in the morning came with a set of obvious assumptions but try as she would, she couldn't remember how the previous night ended. She let her breath out slowly. That was it. She was going to stop drinking so much.

As if on cue, blue eyes opened.

"Morning, Cameron." His voice was husky with sleep.

"Morning, Boyington." Her reply was automatic, a familiar litany, even though her mind was racing. How many times had she said that in the last few months? In the mess. In briefings. In the dawn mist on the way to the flight line. But never like this. Never with him waking up next to her, albeit on the floor. What in the world had happened after they left the party? Thoughts ricocheted around her skull like a caged animal as her alcohol- and exhaustion-fogged brain fought to make sense of it.

Greg rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. The blanket slid precariously.

She made a frantic little sound, unsure if it was a reaction to his presence or a reflection of her struggle to put the previous evening's events in order.

"Something on your mind?" His voice was edged with humor, like he knew something she didn't and was enjoying it.

Kate decided to address the obvious question first. Maybe it would help her remember the rest.

"What are you doing on the floor of my tent?" she blurted.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Sleeping. Badly. But I'm not on the floor of your tent, sweetheart. I'm on the floor of my tent." He paused. When she didn't respond, he added, "You're in my bed."

Kate bolted upright, dislodging Meatball and sending the blanket flying as she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Too late, she forgot about the dress and its northward migration while she slept. She tugged futilely at the fabric, which refused to move because she was sitting on it. She was vaguely aware the black lace panties Laura loaned her were prominently on display, along with a generous amount of breast and black lace bra but that seemed to be one of her lesser problems at the moment. At least they were on, although that didn't really mean anything.

"What the . . .?" She looked around. Flight suit. Shaving gear. Empty Scotch bottles. Cast off uniform draped over a chair. Definitely not her tent. That explained Meatball. The terrier had not been discouraged by her sudden exodus from their cozy arrangement. He crept back and laid his head in her lap, sighing contentedly. Her hand automatically reached out to stroke his ears, find comfort in his solid presence.

"Ummm . . ." She didn't even know where to begin. Really. Where _did_ you begin when you woke up in a man's bed with zero recollection of how you got there? This had never happened before.

"Yes?" Blue eyes sparkled. Dimples deepened. Kate's mind spun as her body responded to the heat of his look. If he shifted again, the blanket was going to slide off completely and she wasn't sure she was ready for that. Was she? How could a man look so incredible at this time of day?

 _Stop it stop it stop it._ She reined in her thoughts.

"What am I doing in your bed?" It was a lame question but it seemed to be the one most likely to get her the information she needed.

When Greg spoke, the honest appreciation in his voice sent her belly tumbling.

"You don't strike me as the type of girl who needs to ask what to do." His tone was sensual without being crude and her heart rate accelerated as she scrambled for words.

"I'm serious! What am I doing here?"

"I'm serious, too." He paused. "That's where you fell asleep last night."

"Fell asleep?" She wasn't sure if she was relieved or horrified. And that really wasn't the information she was looking for. It was obvious she'd fallen asleep there. It was what happened _before_ she fell asleep that concerned her.

"You've been there all night."

Kate's mind was still scrambling to come to terms with her surroundings. It had been a hell of a party. She remembered dancing with him, remembered kissing him. Oh, how she remembered kissing him. Her body glowed with the memory. She could still taste his mouth on hers and the open-ended promise as he led her out of the building. Raining. It had been raining. She'd been so tired. Now she was waking up in his bed but damned if she could remember exactly what happened after they left the Sheep Pen.

She bit her lip. She still had her clothes on, even though they were in a state of disarray. Her hair had tumbled down from its pins, spilling across her shoulders. She shoved at it impatiently and tugged the errant dress sleeve back up over her shoulder. Greg's gaze held her like a lover's touch. She could feel the heat of it on her skin.

Oh. God. Had they . . .? She would know if they had, right? A girl could tell these things. That hot, aching need had started rising in her the minute he opened his eyes. She couldn't want him that much again if they'd just . . . Yeah. She could.

"Did we . . . ?" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Did we what?" He was wide awake now but his voice was still rough with the echoes of last night's whisky. He pushed the blanket aside. Much to Kate's relief, she saw he was wearing shorts.

The early glow of sunlight gilded the edge of the tent as he laid back and clasped his hands behind his head. His smile was pure innocence. Kate gritted her teeth. She swore she could feel heat radiating off his bare skin. She dug her fingers into the canvas of the bunk, her control beginning to fray.

"You know exactly what!" She was trembling.

He rolled onto his side and reached out to let his hand trail from her knee down the length of her calf, to caress her ankle. His fingers were warm and a little rough. Her entire body went on red alert.

"If we had, sweetheart, you'd remember it." That smile caressed her, as tangible as his hand on her skin.

She stopped breathing. Those eyes. That mouth. His whole damned body. She was simmering on the brink of doing something reckless if she didn't get out of there. If his hand moved from her ankle, went anywhere else, she wouldn't be able to say no.

"I have to go."

Kate shoved Meatball off her lap and stood quickly. She yanked the skirt down, although not before he had an additional chance to admire the bottom half of her borrowed lingerie.

"You look good in black lace, Cameron," he said. His grin was unapologetic. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His fingers were still tracing her ankle.

"Stop that." She intended to sound stern but the words came out on a soft moan of pleasure. It didn't matter, he didn't listen. She took a deep breath and tried again. Her voice cooperated this time.

"Let go of my ankle."

His hand remained where it was. He wasn't going to make this easy. She wanted him with an ache that threatened a total disregard for anything resembling modesty but damned if this was going to happen in an open-sided tent on a fighter base as the sun was coming up.

"Stop what?"

"Stop making me want to stay." Her voice was trembling again.

"No one's making you leave." His words were lazy. "You can stay as long as you want."

She got a grip. Holding his eyes, she said, "The sun's coming up. We don't have enough time for what I want."

His grin got even wider. If she didn't get out of here now, she never would. She bent and picked up her shoes, which were sitting by the door.

"Cameron?"

He was still watching her with that intense blue gaze, mouth curved. The invitation was right there. All she had to do was take it.

"Boyington?"

"I'll make sure we have plenty of time for what you want." He winked. "We're not done."

She fled into the pale pre-dawn light.

 **XXX**

" _If we had, you'd remember it." Those words echoed in my head. I didn't doubt it for a minute. How was it possible for a man to have totally taken over my mind and body with nothing more than a kiss? In hindsight, it was a lot more than that. It was the result of something that started the night he picked me up out of the mud, whether either of us knew it then or not. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Greg watched her go, admiring the lean curve of her thighs as she bolted out of his tent, still tugging her dress into place. Her scent lingered in the air. He'd felt her gaze even as he slept, known she would be watching him when he woke.

It was a good thing she'd left. One of them needed to be in control and the way it was headed, it damn sure almost hadn't been him. He could still feel the soft skin of her leg against his hand. If she'd stayed, it wouldn't have been slow. It wouldn't have been bad, either, but she was too much of a good thing to waste on a fast tumble. He wasn't opposed to either bunk or floor but he'd prefer their first time together be conducted somewhere he wouldn't be praying none of his men walked in.

It had been a spectacular party, one of the Black Sheep's finest. Watching her dancing with the boys, seeing the look on her face every time he cut in had been a rush. She'd been so light in his arms, stunning in that dress, her curves pressed warm against him. It was like the rest of the world had vanished when he kissed her and another whole realm of possibility opened. He hadn't been entirely sure until that moment her mouth opened under his, surrendering, that she felt the same way he did. For all that she flirted and wore her emotions on her sleeve, he knew she was gun shy when it came to men but the way she'd kissed him left no doubts.

He'd been aware of at least 20 other guys watching him kiss her and that was a little too much, even for him. Yeah, he'd done it on purpose. He wanted the rest of the Black Sheep to know exactly how things stood. Things needed to be black and white with this bunch and he couldn't think of a way to make it any clearer.

He wasn't sure exactly what his intentions were when they left. He wanted to take her somewhere – anywhere – that the whole squadron wasn't watching every thing they did. He'd made sure a jeep was parked nearby and the keys were in his pocket so the thing would still be there when he needed it.

But it had been raining when they left the party, then they were at his tent and the logical thing was to get out of the rain. They'd ducked inside and he'd stopped to tie the mosquito netting shut. He wasn't sure where things were headed but he knew he wasn't taking any chances with drunk personnel – and there were a lot of them out there – wandering in. He turned from closing the door to find her sprawled on his bunk, out like a light.

He'd tried waking her. Truly, he'd given it his best shot but the girl was gone to the world, exhaustion and whisky having pulled her under. Her only response had been a hand against his cheek, a soft "Yes" and then she'd fallen back asleep.

He'd pulled off her shoes and tossed a blanket over her. Part of him wanted to stretch out next to her and fall asleep with her in his arms. Part of him knew he would have never been able to sleep. Then Meatball appeared from under the bunk, leaped up and curled against her legs.

That memory flooded back with clarity un-fogged by Scotch or a broken night's sleep on a hard floor. He looked at Meatball who was thumping his tail, an idiotic canine grin on his face.

"Hell," Greg muttered. "You got to sleep with her and I ended up on the floor. I think you just won the bet."

 **XXX**

 _The night had been perfect even though it hadn't ended quite the way I thought it might. If she was going to wake up in my bed, I would have preferred to be in it with her. But the die was cast and I knew by the look on her face when she left, it was only a matter of time. Of course, now she had to deal with the Black Sheep and I knew they weren't going to make it easy for her. - GB_

 **XXX**

It was crazy to think she'd get back to her own tent without being spotted, even at this early hour. The 214 never really slept. Someone was always awake, doing something, around the clock. In all probability, she wasn't the only one slipping back to her own quarters before reveille. Not that they ever played reveille here.

She had kissed him and now she'd woken up in his bed, although apparently nothing noteworthy had happened to connect the two events. Her mind replayed that kiss, his mouth gentle on hers, then hotter, more demanding as her response rose to match his. She'd dreamed about kissing him but the reality of being in his arms had far surpassed anything her sleeping mind had conjured.

Never mind that every single man in the squadron had been watching them. She was so used to the boys being in the middle of practically everything she did, it hadn't bothered her as much as she thought it might. It certainly hadn't bothered Greg. The fact he had claimed her in such a public manner wasn't lost on her. It didn't matter what had, or hadn't, happened after that. As far as the Black Sheep were concerned, it was a done deal. Now she just had to face all of them.

She wasn't arguing with the initial public display of affection but any follow-up should be a private affair, she resolved, where it could be given the proper amount of attention. The pressure of his mouth on hers lingered. Backed up by the touch of his hand on her leg minutes ago, it was clear exactly what his intentions were. _"We're not done."_ She sure as hell wouldn't fall asleep the next time.

A low whistle split the air, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Damn, you look fine in the morning."

 _Oh bloody hell!_

Jim lounged by the door to his tent. Kate cursed her inattentiveness. She'd been so close. Her own quarters were just around the corner.

She opened her mouth to say something, found no words in it, closed it.

"You got a big smile on your face, darlin'." His implication was clear.

She didn't know what to say so she didn't say anything.

"Must have been some kind of good lovin'."

"We didn't – nothing happened," she said firmly, trying to compose her face.

Jim gave her a long appraising look that took in her tousled hair, rumpled clothing and shoes dangling from her hand. Self-consciously, she tugged at the dress.

"Uh-huh." It was obvious he wasn't having any of it. He shook his head. "I hope you weren't too hard on him."

Kate drew herself up and looked at him from under her lashes. Fine. Two could play this game.

"What do you think?"

"I think the two of you finally gave each other what you been wanting. Maybe a little sunrise lovin' just now to put that glow in your cheeks?"

 _Dear lord, if he only knew how close he was to the truth._

All right, this had gone far enough. She was not discussing her love life with Jim Gutterman before the sun was up. Or any other time.

"That is none of your business, Captain."

"Oh, I think it might be," Jim drawled. "As his exec, I have a vested interest in his health and well-being."

"Trust me." Kate bared her teeth in a smile. "His health and well-being have never been better."

"Sounds like you kept him up all night."

"He woke up with a smile on his face." Well, it was the truth. As far as it went.

"You're a bold little thing, Katie. I know it was raining last night so you couldn't go to the beach – you had to go back to his tent. You don't strike me as the quiet type. Weren't you worried about anyone hearing you?"

Kate rolled her eyes. He wasn't going to let up, no matter what she said.

"Maybe you didn't hear me when I said it's none of your business?"

Jim was still wearing his uniform, although his shirt was rumpled and his tie was missing.

"Where did _you_ spend the night?" she asked sweetly. "Did you take care of your little red head?"

Jim raised his eyebrows, grinning lazily.

"I took real good care of her," he said. "You don't know what you missed. Or apparently, you do. It coulda been you, ya know. Don't say I never gave you a chance."

Kate decided she was never going to be able to one-up him when she'd been caught slinking across the compound with her shoes in her hand before the sun came up.

"In your dreams," she said and walked away, mustering as much dignity as she could while trying to avoid rocks in her bare feet.

"Every night, darlin'," he called after her.

 **XXX**

The dress was clearly meant to be unzipped by someone other than its occupant, Kate thought. Finally contorting her hand enough to work the zipper down behind her back, she shimmied out of it and pulled on her sleep shirt. She looked at her watch. She could still catch a couple hours of rack time before the squadron went up at 0900. She collapsed on her bunk but now, perversely, sleep eluded her.

She rolled onto her back and threw an arm over her forehead. From the minute he'd kissed her, the rest of the evening had been a foregone conclusion. She'd have done anything he wanted, anywhere he wanted to do it.

Except stay awake. She was such an idiot. Sleep had been the last thing on her mind when they went into his tent but she'd been so damned tired. The minute she sat down on his bunk, she hadn't stood a chance.

Waking up to those blue eyes a few feet away this morning had thrown her mind and body into a state of confusion that was still wreaking havoc.

" _If we had, you'd remember it."_

He might as well have guaranteed she'd never be able to fall asleep again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Felt his touch. She rolled onto her stomach and punched her pillow. It refused to yield any satisfaction. If they had, he'd damned well remember it, too, she would guarantee that.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, Kate gave up on sleep. She dressed in fatigues and a sleeveless work shirt and braided her hair over her shoulder. The wash rack was blessedly deserted. She scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth and deciding she'd stalled enough, headed in search of coffee.

Time for breakfast with the Black Sheep.

 **XXX**

 _If there was ever a morning when I would have liked to avoid the entire squadron, this was it. They'd be reliving last night's highlights over morning mess and like it or not, I knew the minute they saw me it was going to be open season. The worst part of it all was that although nothing happened, those boys weren't going to have any part of believing it. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Given the hour and the scope of last night's celebration, there were a remarkable number of men in the mess. Or maybe not so remarkable, Kate thought, checking her watch. They had a mission to fly in 30 minutes. She stood outside, listening to the rhythm of their conversation over the clink of cutlery on metal trays. The scent of coffee drew her enticingly.

"Anyone seen French? He may not have survived his own party."

" . . . she had me beggin' for salvation . . ."

"Hey Anderson, looks like you got rode hard and put away wet. Ellen ought to take better care of you."

"Oh, she took fine care of me . . ."

" . . . so then I said, why don't you just take it off? That's when she slapped me."

"That girl talks too much but I finally found a way to shut her up . . ."

"Delmonte damned near caught me in Sharon's room this morning. I had to go out the window . . ."

"Hey Greg, I saw Katie leaving your tent this morning. You sure put a smile on that girl's face. Not bad for an old man."

 _Jim. Damnit_. _He just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?_

This was met with a round of approving hoots and catcalls. Kate paused and held her breath, anticipating where the conversation might go next.

"Yeah, Pappy, did you get any last night? Sleep, I mean, of course."

 _TJ. Only you would have the audacity to ask that._

"Unlike you bunch of renegades, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." The quiet satisfaction in Greg's tone made it clear he wasn't going to elaborate.

 _Thank God._

She'd never doubted he wouldn't talk about her the way the other boys relived their romantic encounters. It wasn't his style. The way he looked at her this morning, she knew she was his in a way he would never share for the boys' entertainment. Not that that was going to stop them from asking.

"We all saw the kiss. Care to enlighten us about what happened after you left?"

 _Anderson. Nosy as ever._

"Bet she looked even better out of that dress than she did in it."

 _Boyle, I'm going to knock some manners into you if Greg doesn't do it first._

A yelp from Boyle indicated she wouldn't need to bother.

"Geez, Greg, you could have at least taken her to Espritos and gotten a room with a decent bed."

 _Casey? You're not nearly as innocent as you look._

"Hell, he didn't need to go all the way to Espritos to get her horizontal. Didn't you see the way she was kissing him?"

 _Jim, again. Well, that confirms it. They're not going to believe anything I say._

"Shut up, unless you want your teeth for breakfast."

 _Greg. Mmmm, but he's smiling, I can tell from his voice._

Laughter.

"Seriously, Greg, you got a smile on your face, too. How many times – Ouch! Ouch! Stop! Never mind. None of my business."

 _Anderson, you deserved that._

More laughter.

For a heartbeat, Kate thought about going back to her tent and just waiting until the mess had cleared out. She wasn't really hungry.

She'd heard enough of the boys' breakfast conversation during recent weeks to know anything was fair game – from comments on girls' anatomy to technique. It sounded like Greg was effectively shutting them down but walking in there was going to be like pouring gasoline on open flame. They'd just start over on her.

All right then.

She squared her shoulders and not even trying to keep the smile off her face, walked in with her head high.

Conversation stopped. She could have heard a pin drop as she walked to the coffee urn, her boots loud on the wooden planks. Greg looked up and smiled.

"Good morning, Cameron." His voice had that husky inflection that made her heart beat a little faster than the promise of a Marine Corps breakfast warranted. The heat of his look took her right back to the dance floor, his hands around her waist, his mouth hard on hers.

She poured a cup a coffee and turned to face him, returning the smile, treasuring it between the two of them as she felt every eye in the room on her.

"Good morning, Boyington," she said. Cradling her coffee mug, she yawned and added with deliberate slowness, "Again."

The men whooped and a few of them broke into applause. Kate knew she was blushing furiously but there was no way she could correct their misguided assumption. Perception was reality and this particular perception left no room for doubt.

Jim was the first to speak.

"Hey, Katie, dunno what you did last night but Greg looks about 10 years younger this morning. I think you'd better _keep it up_."

The men guffawed. Kate narrowed her eyes.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Jim just chuckled.

"Oh darlin, we're just getting started. You know how this works - we want details."

Yep. Exactly what she'd expected. She glanced at Greg. He was grinning but his eyes held an unspoken question.

 _Want any help?_

 _Nope, I got this._ She saw him acknowledge her silently and turned back to Jim.

"You couldn't handle the details," she said sweetly.

Jim whooped appreciatively.

"Let me be the judge of that," he challenged. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell us all about it. I reckon we got time."

Kate looked him up and down.

"You don't look like my pants or Greg's hands, so get off my ass."

Around them, the men howled. Kate looked at Greg. He was laughing silently, approval in his eyes.

Jim was undaunted.

"Come on, Katie, just tell us one thing – we got a bet going and Greg won't tell us," he said. "What were you wearing under that dress?"

"That's not really a secret . . ." Kate looked up through her lashes. She could feel the boys' collective intake of breath. A smile tugged the corners of Greg's mouth. "But there's only one man in this room who knows and if he didn't tell you, he must figure it isn't any of your business."

The men groaned.

"Damn, she isn't going to tell us anything either," Boyle complained. "They're two of a kind."

Kate concentrated on filling her breakfast tray, although how in God's name she was supposed to think about powdered eggs right now was beyond her.

"Hey Katie, thanks for leaving him in one piece for us," Don called from the next table.

"Yeah Kate, thanks for not being too hard on him," Anderson added.

 _If you can't beat 'em, join 'em._ Turning to face the men, she flashed a smile.

"It was my pleasure, gentlemen," she said.

More cheering was followed by a few more off-color suggestions and then the topic moved on to where – and with who - other various squadron members had spent the night. Kate sank onto the bench across from Greg and tried to give her attention to her breakfast. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up.

"Next time, Cameron," he said softly.

 **XXX**

 _All he had to do was look at me and it was like everything else vanished – the men's teasing, the lousy food, all of it. It was just me and him and the shared memory of something that hadn't even happened yet. - KCC_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Collateral damage**

 **Nurses' quarters, Naval Hospital, Vella La Cava**

"If I hadn't run into Jim on the way back to my tent and if he would have kept his mouth shut, maybe the boys wouldn't be so obsessed with what happened last night. Or didn't happen." Kate turned from the open window to face Dee. "They won't believe a word I say. They're all absolutely sure we slept together."

"You kind of did," Dee said with barely concealed amusement.

Kate scowled at her.

"I woke up in Greg's bed but that's as far as it went."

"You woke up in his bed and that's all that matters."

"You know what I mean! Were they this hard on you and Casey when you guys . . . you know . . .?"

"Mmm," Dee reflected. "They were way worse on him than me. They still are. They generally never let up on any of the guys who manage more than a one-night stand. I think it's their way of showing approval, even though they're a complete pain in the ass about it." She shrugged, then grinned. "See what you have to look forward to?"

Kate groaned. She wasn't sure she was up for a repeat of the scene during morning mess, especially since the boys' teasing had been based on nothing more than conjecture. It might have been easier to endure if it actually had a basis in fact.

"Just give me a beer," she said. "Please."

"I thought you were going to stop drinking." Dee opened the small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles. Moisture condensed on the amber glass when it hit the warm air. She handed one to Kate. "I still can't believe you fell asleep on him."

"Beer doesn't count." Kate popped the cap off and took a drink. "And it damned sure won't happen again!"

"Beer doesn't count for what?" Ellen walked through the open door. "And what won't happen again?"

"Kate's going to stop drinking but apparently that doesn't include beer." Dee turned back to where Kate was lounging against the sill of the open window.

"Sooooo," Ellen drew out the word and regarded her with sparkling eyes. "How was it? Do tell!"

"There's nothing to tell. Nothing happened," Kate said. She'd said that so much in the last 12 hours, it was becoming her automatic reply no matter what the question was.

"Do you expect us to believe that?" Ellen said. "That kiss was so hot it's a wonder the whole room didn't ignite."

Kate didn't say anything. She tried to keep her smile to herself and sipped her beer. Yeah. The kiss had been hot. She'd never been kissed like that in her life.

"You want to tell her or should I?" Dee asked. When Kate still didn't say anything, Dee sighed. "She's not lying. There isn't anything to tell. She fell asleep on him."

Ellen's perfectly tweezed brows shot skyward.

"You fell asleep? On _that_ man?" She crossed the room in two strides and pressed her hand across Kate's forehead. "Are you all right? You don't have a fever. You're not coming down with anything, are you? Have you had malaria?"

"I'm fine. I do not have malaria. I was just really tired and I drank too much."

"You and Greg are impossible," Dee said, pointing her bottle at Kate. "First, you're two of a kind but it takes you forever to realize it. Then it takes you forever to admit you might be more than just –"

"Hey! If I remember correctly from your letters, it took you and Casey a while before you fell into his bed," Kate protested.

"That's beside the point – he had a girl at home and nothing happened between us – well, nothing much – until she was out of the picture," Dee said a little defensively. "And he fell into my bed, not the other way around."

"Aha!" Kate pounced. "And that _is_ the point – you have a bed." She looked around Dee's room. "And four walls and a door. With a lock."

"That's really not required," Ellen said helpfully. "The beach – "

"The beach – here we go again." Kate rolled her eyes. "Sure, let's just try _no_ walls or doors or locks and see how that works."

Dee and Ellen exchanged knowing looks.

"It works just fine," Ellen said. "And it's soooo much better than hurrying to get everything finished in a tent before someone walks in. I mean, if your guy wants to take his time and . . . well . . . " She blushed attractively.

"With Greg, that's a given," Dee said. "The way he looks at you, I bet he's given a lot of thought to taking his time."

"And then we want details." Ellen crossed her arms over her chest. "Lots of details."

Kate glared at both of them.

"Give me another beer."

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Working in England, Kate had grown accustomed to seeing pilots return from missions in varying states of wear and tear. The Black Sheep were no different. While a successful mission achieved its goal without loss of men or planes, there was almost always collateral damage.

The 20 millimeter rounds from the Zeros or ammo from gun placements on the ground found weak spots and amplified the wear and tear on the Corsairs. Oil lines broke, fuel lines leaked, rudders sheared off, landing gear jammed, instruments failed and flak chewed through steel and glass alike. Just because a pilot set a plane down safely on the airstrip did not mean he got out of it in one piece.

When a round from a Zeke cracked the canopy on Casey's plane and showered the cockpit with metal and glass, he managed to land before losing control and careening off the runway. Greg and Jim drug him out and hauled him to the hospital to get stitched back together. Casey spent 24 hours in the ward before being released to administrative duty. His arm was healing but the flight surgeon hadn't cleared him to the active duty roster yet. In the meantime, a temporary replacement pilot was assigned to the unit.

Lieutenant Alan McNeil was trouble. While that could be said about the 214's pilots in general, McNeil took it to a higher level. Standing 6 feet tall, with classic Nordic good looks, he assumed – correctly – that women found him attractive. He also assumed – incorrectly – his looks gave him carte blanche with the fairer sex.

The Black Sheep didn't hesitate when it came to talking about their romantic conquests but they were altar boys by comparison to McNeil. He viewed women as little more than playthings for sexual gratification and it took less than 48 hours for his overbearing arrogance and coarse language to drive the nurses out of the Sheep Pen. This, in addition to his attitude in the air, gave the men another reason to dislike him.

"That boy's ego shows up 10 minutes before the rest of him," Don observed.

"Think one of us should take him down a peg, Pappy?" Jim offered.

"No," Greg returned. "He's only here until Casey mends. He's good upstairs and we need him."

"Upstairs ain't the problem," Jim grumbled. McNeil managed to insult his girl, Darlene, the previous night by asking if red was her natural hair color and suggesting several ways she could prove it. Dar left in an offended huff and took her friends with her. It was clear they weren't coming back. Fortunately for McNeil, Jim was on the flight line with Greg and Casey, discussing on-going parts issues with Hutch, or the problem might have been resolved then and there. As it was, female companionship in the Sheep Pen was non-existent now, something all the boys took personally.

In the meantime, they embarked on a mission to learn the details of what happened between Greg and Kate the night of Don's party. They were convinced she had slept with him, an assumption that seemed to be based singularly on the fact she'd admitted to waking up with him. The boys weren't about to let that go and Kate knew they had her back against the wall.

She'd woken up in his bed, but the boys, being the Black Sheep, enthusiastically assumed activity of a particular nature had occurred before they woke up together. They were not about to let repeated denials on her part change their mind and they ran with it every chance they got.

They pushed Greg mercilessly, too. He just glared at them and they dropped the subject. It was clear he meant it when he said a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. The boys could tell, however, that the dynamic between them had shifted. Although they both carried on like nothing had changed and they couldn't be caught out in any public displays of affection, there was no denying their relationship had gotten noticeably more intense. Since the war was doing its bloody best to ensure they had little time to spend alone together, Kate realized with frustration that status seemed unlikely to change any time in the near future.

The third night after McNeil's arrival, she was tending bar in the Sheep Pen. This wasn't a very demanding job since the patrons tended to help themselves, but it gave her a good excuse to spend time around Greg. Even though they were surrounded, as usual, by other men relaxing with drinks and cards at the end of the day, it was better than nothing.

"No. I mean it," Kate said firmly, tipping whisky into a glass and handing it to Greg. "Find someone else to sucker into a poker game. Correspondents don't get paid that much and I can't afford to lose. Again."

"Come on, sweetheart," he teased. "Maybe you just need more practice."

There wasn't enough practice in the world that would raise her poker-playing skills to his level and they both knew it.

"Not happening." That damn blue-eyed grin guaranteed she wouldn't be able to concentrate on cards. She laughed. "Take your drink and get out of here." At a nearby table, Jim was laughing openly. Kate's notorious poker skills showed no sign of improving, no matter how many times the boys talked her into a game. Greg and Jim took money from her with relentless delight on a regular basis. She shook her head and went back to polishing glasses.

McNeil stepped up to the bar.

"What can I get you?" she asked pleasantly. She'd been aware of him since he entered the building. His aura of condescending arrogance was hard to miss as he strutted through the room. She'd been so wrapped up with writing Don's story in time to send it out with this afternoon's courier that she hadn't socialized with the squadron much since McNeil arrived. Thanks to muttered comments from the boys, though, she'd picked up on the undercurrent of irritation that ran through the base where he was concerned. This was the first time she'd met him face to face.

He leaned on the bar and looked her up and down. His eyes lingered on her breasts.

"I'll have a double of you, honey," he said, "once on the bottom and once on the top." His tone left no doubt to his meaning.

Kate regarded him coolly.

"No. You won't," she said.

"Why not? I guarantee you and me could have a real good time. You belong to one of these flyboys?" He looked around the room, then back at her, lip curled in a sneer. "Or you just think you're too good for me?"

Kate put down the glass she was polishing.

"I know I'm too good for you." Her tone was flat. A wiser man would have backed off.

At a nearby table, Greg folded his cards and casually pushed his chair back. Kate was aware of the other boys watching and listening.

"You got an attitude on you. Is that any way to treat a guy who offers to show you a good time?"

"I don't remember telling you I was looking for a good time."

McNeil let his eyes run over her.

"That's what all you girls are looking for. Maybe you need to learn to appreciate a man's offer." He reached out and stroked the bare skin of her upper arm.

Kate knocked his hand away, her motion fast as a striking snake, slamming his knuckles against the wooden top of the bar. McNeil jerked back, his features etched with anger. She stepped out of his reach.

"Don't touch me."

"That's where you're wrong. Girls like you don't tell me what to do."

Kate's smile went feral.

"No, Lieutenant. That's where _you're_ wrong."

McNeil's laugh was derisive.

"Pretty thing like you wouldn't last long out here without a man taking care of her. You must be servicing one of these boys, hmm? Maybe he wouldn't mind sharing with a buddy for the sake of unit morale. I could teach you a little respect in the process."

There was a sharp intake of breath from several of the Black Sheep. The tension was audible. Without looking, Kate felt Greg's eyes on her. She knew all it would take was a word and he wouldn't hesitate to administer the attitude adjustment McNeil had coming. But the unit didn't need another black eye on their record, literally or figuratively. She would handle it herself.

"Wrong again, Lieutenant," she said. "I don't belong to anyone. And who I _service_ is none of your damn business. You're zero for two, I'd quit while you're ahead."

"I'm not the quitting type, sugar. You'll come around to my way of thinking."

"You touch me again and it'll be the last mistake you make on this rock."

Kate put down the bar rag and walked out.

"Mmm-mmm," McNeil leered, watching her go. "You boys got the hottest nurses in the theatre."

No one corrected him.

 **XXX**

 _I had a bad feeling about this guy but we needed every pilot we could get. Until Casey got back on the flight roster, I wasn't in a position to tell McNeil to take a hike. I knew his kind. He wasn't going to listen to anything I had to say so I saved my breath. Kate would have asked me to step in if she couldn't handle it and she'd handled it just fine. To tell the truth, I kind of enjoyed watching her in action and it might be for the best that McNeil didn't know how things stood between us. I figured if we gave him enough rope, he'd eventually hang himself. I just hoped he didn't take any of us with him. - GB_

 **XXX**

Kate didn't mind the other boys' off-color jests because they all did it as easily as they breathed. If they didn't tease her about something, she wondered if they were sick. It started the night she arrived on La Cava and it hadn't stopped since. Only the topics changed. Their favorite was the night after Don's party and they pushed for details with an insolence that would have been considered harassment in any other situation. Coming from the Black Sheep, it was just part of their daily candor.

Bobby Anderson caught up with her on the way to a morning mission briefing.

"Katherine, you know how important morale is to a unit's success. The boys and I believe it would boost our morale greatly if you would be so kind as to regale us with the details of your night of passion with Greg."

"There hasn't been a night of passion!" Kate nearly spilled her coffee. "What part of _nothing happened_ don't you understand?" she demanded, trying to sound stern. She'd stuck stubbornly with her _nothing happened_ story, for all the good it was doing. The Black Sheep loved a happy ending, even if it was only in their imagination.

"All of it. If you are going to share relations with our CO, we think – "

Kate spun in front of him and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. Bobby backed up. She poked him harder. He backed up again. She kept poking until he stumbled backward over a sandbag and ran up flat against the outside wall of the ops shack. The passing pilots laughed. Bobby didn't seem to be alarmed.

"You need to quit thinking. What Greg and I are doing is. None. Of. Your. Business." She emphasized each word with a jab of her index finger and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince.

"Ah-ha! You admit it! You are doing something!" He grinned with irrepressible good humor.

Kate was saved from coming up with any sort of response by Greg's appearance. He looked at the two of them and shook his head.

"Anderson, I don't know what you did but you might want to think twice before you do it again." He chuckled. Then turning to her, added, "Cameron, are you harassing my pilots again?"

"No." She tried to sound petulant but it didn't work, since she was laughing. "He started it. He's nosy and impudent."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I picked him for this squadron. He was up on misconduct charges for back-talking a superior officer. Hell, he still does it."

It wasn't just Bobby, Kate thought, as he held the door to the ops shack for her and made a show of bowing her in graciously ahead of him. If Jim wasn't reminding her that Greg needed his sleep at night, Don was teasing her over breakfast about hearing noises from her tent at 0200. And they played the age angle endlessly. Even as she stepped through the doorway, TJ wrapped a friendly arm around her waist.

"Hey Katie, I know you got a good thing going with Pappy, but if he ever needs a rest and you find yourself in need of, um, well, a younger man for an evening, I just want you to know I'd be more than willing to accommodate you."

Kate slid her arm around his waist and grinned up at him.

"TJ, if you weren't so cute I'd file harassment charges." She gave him a friendly squeeze. "Now leave me alone before I have to tell Beth you're hitting on me when she's not around."

That didn't faze him.

"I think we could work something out. Maybe the three of us – "

"Not a chance." She gave him a gentle shove and went to find a seat. She'd gotten so used to their teasing, it rolled off her like rain off a duck's back. Yeah. Greg was older than her but just the thought of his mouth and hands left her breathless, never mind the rest of him. She was starting to wonder if she'd ever find out about the rest of him. It wasn't like the war was going to slow down so either of them could make romance a top priority.

Even when it pushed the envelope of decency, which was most of the time, the Black Sheep's teasing was their way of showing they approved of her relationship with Greg. On the other hand, McNeil's blatantly sexual comments about her or any of the nurses were like nails on a chalkboard. Not only had he driven the nurses completely off the base, just knowing he was around made Kate look over her shoulder any time she was alone. She ignored him at meals and during briefings and avoided him beyond that. She refused to use the squadron's showers unless one of the other boys was there. If not, she made the longer drive to clean up in the security of the nurse's quarters. She worked, avoided McNeil as much as possible and enjoyed every moment she could steal with Greg, even if those moments always came with more company than either of them wanted.

 **XXX**

 _It should have been so simple to find time when we could steal away to a private spot and just, you know, get to know each other better. But the war had other ideas. The men were flying insane missions, I had to deal with a replacement pilot who thought he was God's gift to women, Colonel Lard kept calling to threaten that he was coming to see me and somehow Hutch got the crazy idea I could help him with plane maintenance. This assignment got more complicated by the day. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **One week later**

 **1900 hours**

McNeil strolled into Kate's tent without the routine courtesy of knocking. She looked up from her typewriter in surprise. It wasn't unusual for the men to drop in but he was the last person she expected to see. By now, he'd figured out she wasn't a nurse. He smiled. She didn't.

"You sure are a busy little thing. Why don't you take a break? Let's you and me go for a walk on the beach tonight," he said.

"Not interested," she returned bluntly and resumed typing.

McNeil was not inclined to take subtle hints.

"Bet I could get your mind on something else."

"Please leave, Lieutenant. These are private quarters and I'm working." Her tone was icy but to no effect.

Another shadow fell across the door as Jim stuck his head in.

"Everything all right here, darlin'?"

"Peachy." She slammed the carriage back on her typewriter. "The lieutenant was just leaving."

McNeil didn't leave. Jim didn't either. Finally, the tall blonde pilot turned and sauntered out.

"I'll see you later, sugar," he called.

"Not if I see you first," Kate muttered and went back to her story.

Outside, McNeil fell in with Jim as the two men made their way across the base.

"Can you imagine scoring with that one?" he said. "I don't know what would be sweeter - her mouth or her – "

"Here's some free advice," Jim interrupted. "Leave her alone."

"Why? You getting a little of that honey?"

"Nope."

"Then it's every man for himself, isn't it?"

Jim shrugged.

"It's your funeral," he said and walked away.

 **XXX**

Dee stood amidst the rampant chaos of Kate's tent and looked for a place to sit. Stateside newspapers, Stars And Stripes, notebooks, two dictionaries, an Associated Press style book, a battered Royal typewriter, spare typewriter ribbons, pencils, fountain pens, ink, typing paper, carbon paper, photographs and various and sundry other items cascaded off the desk and onto the surrounding floor. A map of the Solomons was tacked to the mosquito netting, along with prints of Kate's favorite photographs. About one-third of the tent was still occupied with crates of Scotch and some newly acquired Australian wine. Kate had been sorely tempted to perform quality control on the latter.

Her bunk was pushed up along one side of the tent to make room for her desk. Clean laundry was haphazardly folded in an open trunk and recently washed bras and panties hung on a clothesline strung along the back wall. Kate didn't have a problem hanging the rest of her laundry on the communal lines between tents but she was having no part of airing her underthings in front of the male personnel. The indoor laundry line didn't really fix that problem, since the men were in and out of her tent on a regular basis but it was the principal of the thing. They usually had the decency to look the other way and pretend the bits of lace and silk weren't there. Usually.

A half-full fifth of Scotch sat on her desk. She and Greg had passed the bottle back and forth the previous night, joined by Casey. Since his arm was still in a sling, he'd been working overtime on the unit's wheeling and dealing. Lard's generosity with the supply line only went so far and the men had been finessing a deal involving Scotch for carburetors. If their grumbling had been any indication, the deal had hit a snag in the form of a supply sergeant on Espritos who was throwing a wrench into things. Kate found herself drawn into the intrigue of the unit's black market schemes, although her mind kept wandering down paths where she and Greg were alone. They did not involve carburetors.

"Honestly, Kate, how do you live like this?"

"Sorry, I gave the maid the afternoon off." Kate leaned from her desk and chucked a stack of books and papers onto the floor so her friend could sit in the other chair. "Until that ass McNeil leaves, this is where I spend most of my time. He can't keep his eyes off me or his mouth shut if I'm anywhere around. Greg says he's a good pilot and the squadron needs him but I'm about ready to teach him a little respect myself and see how he likes it." She flipped the cover of her notebook shut. "So see what you can do to get Casey back on active duty. Maybe he needs a little extra TLC, you're good at that."

Before Dee could reply, someone knocked.

"Hey, Hutch," Kate greeted the mechanic as he stepped in. He held out a tattered and grease stained field manual.

"Hey, Katie. Hi, Dee. Check out pages 172 to 180. That's what I've got in mind," he said. "Talk to you later."

"So . . ." Dee began.

Kate closed her eyes. She knew what was coming. Dee was just as bad as any of the boys when it came to trying to pry information out of her about Greg. Not that she wouldn't have shared things with Dee. She loved her like a sister. There just wasn't anything to share. And if there had been, she really wasn't sure how _much_ of it she'd tell. A girl could keep a few things to herself, couldn't she? If it ever came to that?

Just then, TJ stuck his head in the door.

"Hey, Katie, briefing in 10. Oh, hi, Dee." And he was gone.

"For someone who has a tent to herself, I've never seen a place with less privacy," Dee commented.

"You got that right," Kate said. "There might as well be a revolving door for all the traffic that goes through here."

She'd long since given up on actually closing the door beyond dropping the mosquito netting at night. After Greg publicly claimed her at Don's party, she knew no one on the base was going to touch her. The men had become like brothers. Perfectly annoying brothers who delighted in teasing her every chance they got.

"So, have the two of you – " Dee began again.

Kate held up an admonitory finger.

"I know what you're going to ask." She paused. "Nothing has happened since the night of the dance. I'd tell you . . . if there was anything to tell."

Dee's eyes sparkled.

"It's kind of fun watching you act like there's nothing going on. Do you really think anyone believes that?"

"No," Kate admitted wryly. "But there _isn't_ anything going on. It was just one kiss." She and Dee had gone over what had happened – or not happened – the night of Don's party, more than once. That didn't stop Dee from angling for more details every time she saw Kate. Sometimes Kate thought the boys must be putting her up to it.

"That kiss was not nothing," Dee said. "He kissed you like he owned you and you looked like you never wanted it to stop. By the way, Laura says keep the shoes and everything. She figures at the rate you're going, you'll need them again."

Kate did not see any opportunities requiring cocktail dresses and lacy lingerie in the immediate future but she didn't say anything.

"There was just one kiss," she said, trying to sound neutrally agreeable. "That's all. Nothing else. And apparently you and everyone else saw it, so everyone knows the same thing." One searing kiss that still scorched her lips and ricocheted through her body every time she thought about it. She paused. "Tell Laura thanks, I appreciate it, but there's a war going on, if you haven't noticed, and that's kind of our first priority."

"It doesn't hurt to get away from the war for a while now and then," Dee said. "Just for a couple of hours. Just to be alone with someone and forget about everything else but each other." She gave Kate a knowing look, then leaned forward and picked up the tattered sheaf of papers Hutch had delivered.

"Field Maintenance Manual for Vought 4FU Corsair? Is this your idea of light bedtime reading? No wonder you're sleeping by yourself."

Kate shook her head.

"Don't ask. Hutch has this crazy idea that since my hands are smaller than any of the mechanics, I could help them do some of the smaller maintenance jobs on the planes and save time while they work on the bigger stuff. I told him I'd read this section but not to expect me to understand any of it. And I'm sleeping by myself because . . ." She swung her arms outward to encompass not only her tent but the surrounding base and its occupants.

Dee just grinned.

"Katie, sweetie, that's no excuse. I keep telling you – there are miles of beachfront on this island. Go find some and use it!"

"Dee Ryan! If your mama heard you say that she'd roll over in her grave! Get out of here. I'm going to be late for the briefing."

 **XXX**

 _Dee hit the nail on the head. We had no privacy. I suspected that bothered me more than it bothered Greg. It's not that guys want to make a public display of everything but I knew Greg wasn't hesitant to make it clear how he felt whether anyone was watching or not. Or maybe it was just my hang-up and I needed to get over it. It wasn't easy to focus on work when I was around him. A smile, a touch and I was ready to do something reckless, only I wasn't reckless enough for it to happen in that fishbowl of a base. - KCC._

 **XXX**

Although they hadn't come out and said it, the Black Sheep came to an unspoken agreement to make sure Kate was never left alone after McNeil's arrival on the base. If she wasn't in Greg's company, one of the other boys was always nearby. While they had little doubt she could defend herself if the need arose, McNeil's attitude about women brought their sense of big-brother protectiveness to the surface. Kate appreciated this more than she was willing to admit. She didn't think the arrogant pilot would try anything but given that he had shown zero respect for women, it wasn't a chance she was willing to take.

She'd gone from trying to avoid showering when the other boys were using the facilities to preferring their company there. The security of their presence overrode any awkwardness created by the communal shower situation. It had become a fact of her life, like being awoken for an early mission by Greg or one of the other boys holding a mug of coffee next to her face. Unexpected, occasionally startling, but not entirely unpleasant.

It was Saturday night and several of the boys were getting ready for dates. She hoped that would keep their minds on their girls and off of her but that turned out to be wishful thinking.

"Hey Kate, wanna give me a hand? I need someone to wash my back," Don called.

"Get TJ to do it!" she answered cheerfully, pulling the chain to let sun-warmed water rinse off soap and shampoo.

"There's a line out here, hurry up, Katie, unless you want me to come in there and help you," TJ called.

"Wiley, you're as bad as Jim," she snapped back.

"Really, Kate, I'm sure we'd both get done much quicker," TJ continued. Even though the men weren't about to challenge Greg, that hadn't stopped them from teasing her about her options.

"You mean, you'd get done quicker," she retorted. "Girls like to take their time."

"Then we'd better get started, I have to pick up Beth at 1700."

"How about it, Kate, maybe you have a date tonight, too? I saw Greg come down here earlier," Casey teased.

"Seriously, Katie, aren't you done yet? I'm in a hurry. And don't hog all the hot water."

"Okay, okay, I'm done! Not that a cold shower would hurt any of you."

She toweled off hastily and pulled on underwear and shorts. Without pausing to put on her bra, she yanked a clean T-shirt over damp skin and wrapped the towel around her hair. She tossed her soap and shampoo into her bucket, jammed her feet into canvas shoes and exited the shower stall.

"It's all yours," she said to TJ, who was tapping his foot impatiently.

Back in her tent, she contemplated the evening. She could go back to working on her current story, which was what she should do. She could go have a drink at the Sheep Pen, which was what she'd like to do. Or she could find Greg and see what he was doing, which was what she really wanted to do. She was still mulling her options when Meatball trotted into her tent.

"Hi, buddy, what are you doing here?" She looked around for Greg but didn't see him. She leaned down to pet the dog. He sniffed her bare legs, his tail lashing back and forth. She scratched his back as he twisted happily under her hand, then, quick as a flash, the terrier grabbed her bra off the bunk where she'd tossed it and bolted out the door.

"Meatball, what the hell!" Kate stared in surprise, then took off after him. The dog beat a bee-line to his master's tent and ran inside. Without bothering to knock, she followed him. Greg was at his desk, working on calculations for the next day's mission. Meatball leaped up on the bunk and lay down, gently licking his prize.

"Your dog stole my bra!" Kate sputtered. She wasn't sure if she was indignant or amused.

Greg looked up. His eyes played over her figure and she realized, too late, that the T-shirt clinging to her damp skin didn't leave much to the imagination. She might have reacted a little hastily.

"I see that." His voice was warm with amusement.

Kate crossed her arms. That did little more than emphasize the obvious.

Greg looked at Meatball.

"What have you got there?" He stood and took Kate's bra out of the terrier's mouth. It was one of her practical, everyday foundation garments, ivory silk, a little ragged. He studied it, smiling slowly, then folded it and handed it back to her.

"What happened to the black lace?"

Kate took the item in question and stuffed it unceremoniously into the pocket of her shorts. He was standing closer than he needed to. Her hands rose and flattened on his chest, unsure if she was pushing him away or inviting him closer.

"The black lace is for special occasions." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Greg didn't say anything and she was caught, spellbound, in his eyes. Suddenly self-conscious, she turned to leave.

He took her arm, spinning her easily back to him.

"What's your hurry, Katie?"

The sound of her name on his lips froze her in place.

"I . . ."

"You're always leaving just when things start to get interesting."

His grip was gentle as he pulled her into his arms but she knew there was no chance of getting loose. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth, deepening the dimples that never failed to leave her helpless. Outside, men shouted, tossing a baseball back and forth. Someone drove by in a jeep, just a few feet from the tent door. There was no expectation of privacy here and he knew it.

"No," she protested. "We can't –"

"Yeah. We can."

The kiss was light, his lips barely brushing hers, lingering, tasting her with only a suggestion of pressure.

"Stop it." She turned away. God knew she wasn't against kissing him but she was against kissing him here. "Someone will – "

"Someone will what?" He brought her face back to his and kissed her again. She stiffened, refusing to let him pull her under even as his teeth closed on her lower lip. Her self-control was eroding at an alarming rate. He stroked her back, his fingers gentle as his mouth lit a flame that licked through her body.

In the tent doorway, someone cleared their throat. Kate startled but Greg didn't take his hands off her. Or his mouth. The kiss stayed light, only the whisper of his lips on hers, teasing, inviting. She struggled, wanting to pull way but couldn't have if she tried. He was a flame she couldn't resist and he was burning her alive.

The anonymous throat clearing in the doorway turned into a chuckle. Kate couldn't think about two things at once, so she quit trying and gave herself over to Greg's embrace. Her lips parted as he took his time, letting the kiss deepen, destroying her resistance until she couldn't think at all.

He was rougher now, his hands hard on her upper arms, holding her motionless. She wasn't prepared for the wave of arousal that washed over her as his body pressed against hers. Every beat of her heart pushed her recklessly toward the edge of a precipice. It was like waking up with him the morning after Don's party all over again, heat and power and invitation. If this kept up much longer she wasn't going to be responsible for what happened next. Somewhere in the distance she heard a soft, feral moan of pleasure and realized it was her. She couldn't help it. She lost track of time, her arms around his neck, fingers twisted in his hair as his mouth owned hers.

The throat clearing sounded again, more definitive this time.

"Are you two about done?" Jim said finally. "I'm not gonna stand here all night."

Greg pulled back a fraction. He looked over her shoulder and growled, "Good. Go away."

"Sorry, Pappy, can't." Jim laughed. "Sorry, darlin', for interrupting your research. I can tell you take it seriously."

Emotion and sensation pounded through her. She didn't know what was worse – Greg kissing her where everyone could see them in the first place or Jim interrupting them. Men were nothing but trouble. Pilots were extra trouble. _This_ pilot was beyond trouble. _That_ pilot wasn't helping.

Jim stood in the tent door, arms crossed, an amused look on his face.

"Lard's landing here in about five minutes. He's on his way back from a conference on Guadalcanal," he said, "and he's demanding to see K.C. Cameron. What are we going to do?"

The look on Greg's face made it perfectly clear what he wanted to do and she smothered a laugh in spite of the situation. His hands squeezed her waist gently. She ran her index finger across his lower lip, felt his heartbeat thudding against her chest.

"Next time, kiss me where no one will interrupt us," she said softly.

He quirked his eyebrows.

"You can count on it," he said.

 **XXX**

Colonel Thomas Lard climbed out of the L-5, pulled off his mae west and threw it back in the plane. Greg could see his brows drawn together in the familiar, perpetual scowl.

"Colonel, what brings you to our little garden spot of the war this evening?" Greg bared his teeth in a smile. He disliked Lard on a good day. When the man interrupted what might have turned into a promising evening with Kate, he disliked him exponentially more.

"I thought I'd stop and meet K.C. Cameron. I've been meaning to come see the man for some time now."

"Oh, sir, you should have called first." Greg tried to look regretful, which under the circumstances, wasn't very hard. "He left this afternoon."

"Left? For where?"

Behind Lard's shoulder, Casey mouthed, "Rendova."

"Rendova, sir."

"What the hell's he doing on Rendova? He's assigned to cover this unit."

Greg shrugged.

"I know, sir, but you know how reporters are, always running all over the place. He said something about having business in the press corps office there."

A horn beeped as a jeep rounded the corner, accelerating down the track between the tents. Kate waved at the men and shifted into a higher gear as she flew past. Lard jumped back, scowling as dust settled on the toes of his polished shoes.

"Who was _that_?"

"One of the nurses," Jim said quickly. "She was here checking up on conditions among the men, right Greg?"

Greg turned a strangled noise into a cough.

"Yes sir, those Navy nurses are very thorough in their follow up care," he managed. "You're welcome to wait for Cameron, of course, but we have no idea when he'll be back. This late in the day, I'd guess he'll stay on Rendova tonight."

Lard looked suspiciously around the compound.

"Boyington, it's not that I don't trust you, but how do I know the man is actually living here and not just dropping in from time to time? That would account for his . . . optimistic . . . coverage of this unit." He looked up and down the road as if expecting to see another jeep heading for him. "Where's he staying?"

"In the VIP tent."

"You don't mind if I take a look, do you?"

Greg shrugged again.

"Be my guest. Right this way, sir."

Lard turned away and behind his back, Greg signaled to Jim and mouthed "clothesline." Jim looked confused. Greg rolled his eyes. He mimed cupping a girl's breasts with both hands. Jim's eyebrows shot up in sudden understanding and he took off, dashing behind the tents and out of Lard's line of vision.

"What's wrong with him?" Lard asked, noticing Jim's sudden departure.

"Bad sausage at breakfast this morning," Casey said.

Greg led Colonel Lard slowly across the base, stopping frequently to make observations about the condition of the planes and the latest shortages Micklin and Hutch were dealing with.

"Stop stalling, Boyington, I haven't got all night," the colonel finally snapped.

"Right here, sir. Here's the VIP tent." Greg gestured for Lard to go ahead of him.

Lard stepped into the tent and looked around. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw a flash of lace vanish out the back flap as Kate's clothesline and its contents disappeared.

Lard surveyed the combined chaos of living quarters and office. Greg had never been so relieved Kate wasn't a particularly tidy housekeeper. There was nothing remotely feminine about the tent, missing laundry line not withstanding.

"I see he's made himself at home," Lard said, lifting an empty Scotch bottle from the desk. "I hope your boys aren't corrupting him."

"I wouldn't worry about that sir," Greg said.

"What the hell is this?" Lard bent and lifted a pair of girl's panties from the floor. He studied them at arm's length before dropping them on the bunk. "Maybe you should start worrying about it. That man isn't assigned here to entertain himself with the nurses."

Greg plastered a smile on his face.

"You know what those Navy nurses are like, sir. Really, it's hard to keep them away sometimes. I could have a word with Cameron, if you like."

Lard snorted. He muttered something about the pot calling the kettle black. Greg didn't ask him to repeat it.

Outside, the L-5's pilot called, "Sir? We're burning daylight, we need to get back in the air."

Lard took a final look around the tent.

"I'll have to catch up with Cameron another time. I really want to talk to him about his writing."

"Yes, sir, I'm sure you do," Greg said.

 **XXX**

 _We'd dodged a bullet, again. Kate had been here for two months and so far Colonel Lard wasn't any the wiser. I didn't know how long we could keep pulling this off. In one way, the war was turning out to be handy. It kept Lard from having much time to deal with worrying about a single reporter. In spite of all his bluster, I wasn't sure he really wanted to deal with Cameron anyway. After all, it was his fault she was here in the first place. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Kate pulled her bra out of her pocket and dropped it on Dee's bed.

"I'm not even going to ask," her friend said.

"It's better that way." Kate sat down and groaned. "It's not my fault. It's TJ's fault and Meatball's fault and Lard's fault." Looking up, she couldn't help grinning. "But mostly it's Greg's fault."

She gave Dee a condensed version of the last 30 minutes.

"Wait, wait – go back to the part about what you and Greg were doing when Lard interrupted. I want to hear more about that," Dee said. The sparkle in her eye told Kate her friend knew exactly what they were doing.

"It wasn't Lard who interrupted, it was Jim," Kate said. "But it was Lard's fault Jim interrupted. It was probably for the best." She sighed. "If I'd stayed there much longer, I'm not sure what would have happened."

"From the sound of it, I've got a pretty good idea."

"Not in that tent," Kate said through clenched teeth. She stood, and turning her back on her friend, hiked her T-shirt up over her shoulders, put on her bra and pulled her shirt back down.

"You need to get over your privacy issues." Dee said.

"Privacy issues?" Kate turned to face her. "I don't have privacy issues! I don't have privacy! I'm living in the middle of a Marine fighter base and you're talking to me about privacy? I can change my clothes in less than a minute, top to bottom. Half the time I shower with one of the boys in a stall next to me. I wake up to them knocking on my door, then just walking in – granted, they usually bring coffee, but still. I have to keep an eye on my underwear or Meatball steals it. And you say I need to just get over it?"

Dee giggled.

"Do you want to sleep with him or not?"

"Stop it!" Kate felt her face grow hot. "That's not the point."

"I think that's exactly the point." Dee folded her arms across her chest, resting her case.

"Yes." Kate said quietly. She treasured the time she spent with Greg. She loved his smile, the look in his eyes when he interrupted whatever she was doing, the things they talked about when the two of them were alone. She loved his irreverent sense of humor and his complete disregard for regulations that stood in the way of how he thought things should be done.

When he looked at her, she wanted to lose herself in him and let him take her somewhere the war would disappear for both of them, even if it was only for a few hours.

And she woke with his name on her lips more often than she wanted to admit.

"Then you need to make it happen," Dee said with finality.

 **XXX**

 _Privacy issues, my sweet aunt. Dee didn't live on the base. She didn't have any idea how damned hard it was to just be alone with the man for 10 minutes. When it came to Greg, I wanted more than 10 minutes. - KCC_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Whiskey at sunset**

 **Somewhere over the Solomon Slot**

The Black Sheep were on their way home from a routine bomber escort. The mission had been a milk run, leaving planes unscathed and the men in high spirits. As they drew closer to home, the radio chatter drifted, as it often did, to women.

"Something I've been meaning to ask you boys," McNeil drawled. "What's the deal with that sweet little piece of ass you got living on the base? The one with the legs that won't quit?"

There was a brief silence before Boyle answered.

"Katie? She's press corps, assigned to us."

"Yeah, I got that – but how _assigned_ is she? Any of you boys got your name on her or is she free for the taking?"

Static crackled across the awkward silence.

"We don't think of Katherine that way," Anderson said finally.

"Oh come off it," McNeil sniggered. "A girl who looks like that? Don't tell me you haven't all dreamed about making her moan."

"Back off," Jim said. "She's one of us."

McNeil's laugh was devoid of humor.

"I just bet she is – which one of you've been spreading those long legs? Tell me, is she as sweet on her knees as she is on her back?"

"You're out of line, McNeil, knock it off," Greg said.

"A girl who looks like that, living in the middle of a bunch of Marines is just begging for it, know what I mean?"

"I said that's enough." Greg's voice was steel. "Another word out of you and we'll settle this on the ground."

"No offense intended, Major. Just wondered whose bed she's sharing, that's all. She's pretty easy access for you boys – you take turns or what?"

"I'll see you on the ground, Lieutenant."

 **XXX**

Kate and Casey were in the com shack, working on logistics for the stalled Scotch-for-carburetors deal when the radio picked up the Black Sheep's banter. As the conversation played out, Kate's cheerful briskness drained to icy silence. Casey shifted uneasily, watching as the color rose in her cheeks and her eyes went hard as flint. After the last transmission, she slammed her pencil onto the table. It snapped. She shoved her chair back so hard it fell over as she bolted out of the building.

"Katie! Wait! You heard Greg – he'll handle it when they land," Casey called after her. "You don't need to – oh, hell!" He flew out the door and leaped into the passenger seat of the jeep as Kate turned the motor over. "Greg's got this. He's been looking for an excuse to pound this guy for weeks."

"He's gonna have to wait a little bit longer," she said, teeth clenched. She jammed the vehicle into gear and spun the tires as she accelerated toward the flight line. Casey knew when it came to women, discretion was often the better part of valor. He kept his mouth shut and held on.

 **XXX**

 _I had no idea what I was going to do but no man talks about me that way. I knew Greg and all the Black Sheep would have my back on this. They didn't like McNeil any better than I did and I knew they were all just spoiling for the chance to take him down a peg. If it hadn't been for them, maybe I wouldn't have been quite so reckless but by the time I got to the flight line I was seeing red. When we were girls, Dee accused me of rushing in where angels feared to tread. Some things never change. - KCC_

 **XXX**

The last few Black Sheep were landing when Kate slammed the jeep to a stop. Greg ducked under the wing of his plane in time to see her leap out and storm toward McNeil.

"Think she heard any of that?" Jim asked, joining him.

One look told Greg everything he needed to know. Her body was a rigid line of fury and anger snapped around her like a rising wind.

"I'd say that's a yes." He pulled off his mae west. He'd intended to settle the issue in short order but it looked like he might have to wait. He was torn between taking the man down for his attitude and reluctance to deny Kate the satisfaction she clearly intended to have.

"Think we should stop her?" Jim mused, hesitant.

"You go right ahead." Greg stopped in front of his bird. The steely look in Kate's eyes didn't bode well for anyone who got in her way.

"Think I'll take a pass on that," Jim said with a chuckle. "I guess we can step in if she needs help."

Greg had never seen anyone who looked less like they needed help. Kate stopped several yards in front of McNeil, hands balled into fists at her sides. He looked up, then jerked back in surprise. Greg saw a grim, satisfied smile flicker across her face.

"You son of a bitch!" Her voice was low but it carried easily on the warm, dusty air. "How dare you talk about me that way." It really wasn't a question.

The pilot's face registered brief uncertainty before his usual patronizing sneer settled over his features.

"You got a temper on you, honey, bet that makes you even hotter between the sheets. No wonder these boys don't want to share. Do they just pass you around or -"

Kate drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked like a rifle shot. Stunned, McNeil stumbled back, staring at her in angry disbelief. He regained his balance and took an aggressive step forward. She didn't move.

"You little slut, you just hit an officer! Time someone taught you some respect." He threw his gear down and raised a hand in retaliation.

On the sidelines, several of the Black Sheep shifted uneasily.

"Greg, don't you think – " Casey began.

Greg shook his head. He got the feeling Kate hadn't been kidding the morning she'd told him she'd defend her own honor. If push came to shove, there were 19 of the Black Sheep and only one of McNeil. He had a feeling it wasn't going to come to that.

McNeil advanced on her and Kate met him mid-stride. Whether he actually intended to strike her was a moot point. He expected her to back down and when she didn't, he didn't have time to regroup. She caught him off guard and quick as a cat, grabbed his wrist and twisted. His momentum carried him straight at her as she hooked her right leg between his. He tripped and she was on him in a second, clinging to his back as he sprawled in the dirt. McNeil thrashed and shook her off. Rolling, he used his weight to pin her.

On the sidelines, Greg winced. He probably should have stepped in and chanced having her turn her wrath on him. On the other hand, she wasn't exactly crying for help. He watched her let her body go limp. McNeil relaxed and started to sit up. Kate writhed to one side and threw a knee hard into his groin, twisting out from under him as he crumpled, grunting in pain. She was on him again, grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm up hard behind his back and rolled him face down in the dirt. Balanced on one knee, she slammed the other between his shoulders.

"You. Arrogant. Ass." Each word was punctuated by jerking his arm higher. "How dare you talk about women that way!" Greg got the feeling she didn't expect an answer.

"Get off me! Ouch! She's breaking my arm!" McNeil thrashed but Kate had the advantage of leverage and she used it. "Somebody get her off me!"

Greg looked at the men gathered in a loose circle.

"Any of you hear anything?"

"No, Pappy."

"Nope."

"Not a thing."

Kate grabbed McNeil's hair with her free hand and jerked his head up. "As long as you stay on La Cava, you will not look at me. You will not speak to me and you will not talk about me. Do I make myself clear?"

The pilot rolled again, trying to dislodge her. She shifted her balance and forced him back onto his chest.

"I asked you a question, Lieutenant." Her tone was ice. "Do I make myself clear?" She twisted his arm higher.

McNeil groaned in acquiescence.

Kate let go of him and got to her feet. She wiped her hands on her pants. The skin on the underside of one forearm arm was torn and bleeding. Her clothes were smeared with muck and there was a new rip in her fatigues. Looking neither left nor right, she stalked back to the jeep, turned the motor over and sprayed dirt as she left.

 **XXX**

 _In hindsight, it never occurred to me to let Greg handle McNeil. He was right there on the flight line and I knew he – or any of the Black Sheep - would have stepped in without me even having to ask. But letting men fight my battles had never been a luxury I could afford and that wasn't likely to change. If Greg had a problem with it, I figured I'd find out soon enough. - KCC_

 **XXX**

"I'm glad she landed in your bed after all," Jim said quietly. "She might kill you but you'll die a happy man."

"That thought has crossed my mind." Greg rubbed his hand across his face. Lord, that girl was something else. McNeil struggled to his feet. None of the pilots offered him a hand up.

"Get your gear, you're done here," Greg said to him. "I want you on the transport when it leaves this afternoon."

McNeil wiped his sleeve across his face and sneered.

"So you're the one doing her. CO's privilege, huh? Does she always like it that rough?"

McNeil's day went from bad to worse in short order.

 **XXX**

 _I could tell from the look in her eye when she came blazing out of that jeep that she meant business. I honored her need to fight her own battles but she'd made her point and honor only goes so far. I figured if McNeil kept asking questions, it was only polite to give him a few answers. - GB_

 **XXX**

Lieutenant Alan McNeil limped onto the transport that afternoon with one eye swollen shut, a broken nose and several loose teeth. The incident report said he had fallen while climbing out of his Corsair. It was signed by Major Greg Boyington and witnessed by his executive officers, Captain James Gutterman and Lieutenant Lawrence Casey.

 **XXX**

 **2000 hours, that same day**

Kate combed her damp hair into a loose tail, twisted it artfully around itself and stuck several pins in it. She paused in front of the small mirror hanging from the center pole of her tent. The resulting effect was a little reckless but if her hair stayed out of her eyes and off her neck in the tropical warmth, she didn't care.

Humming "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," she cuffed up the sleeves of her shirt, easing the fabric over the bandage on her arm. Her impact with the hard-packed ground of the landing strip that morning had peeled away a few layers of skin. The satisfaction she'd gained from the look of surprise on Alan McNeil's smug face after she slapped him made it worth it.

The whole incident had been oddly satisfying, she admitted reluctantly. She hadn't intended for things to get that physical. Honestly, she hadn't. Living with the Black Sheep was rubbing off on her more than she wanted to admit. She was drinking and brawling with the best of them now and she'd known from the minute she stepped out of the jeep they'd back her up, no matter what. The thought was comforting and unsettling both.

A face appeared over her shoulder in the mirror, blue eyes and a smile that made her heart jump. The rest of her jumped, too.

"Damnit, Boyington! Don't sneak up on me like that." She'd been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn't heard him walk in.

He stopped behind her and rested his hands low on her waist. She stepped into the embrace and energy coursed through her, unexpected and wild. They so rarely touched each other beyond casual contact, she felt a little betrayed by her body's response.

"Come with me, Cameron," he said. His breath tickled her neck. "Get in the jeep."

Wrenching her senses back under control, she turned and narrowed her eyes. "The last time you said that, I ended up in an airplane."

"You liked it. Admit it."

She'd liked it all right. She'd liked it a lot more than she'd let on. When she reached for her camera and notebook, he caught her wrist and shook his head.

"No. You're off duty tonight."

"What - ?"

"No questions." He cut her off. "You still don't take orders very well. Come on, the sunset isn't going to last forever."

She looked at him in confusion.

"Remember?" he said with exaggerated patience. "When you were pretending not to like flying with me, you said you could enjoy a sunset just as easily from solid ground."

"Uh-huh," she said slowly and got in the jeep. Meatball plopped himself happily between them and they took off.

Greg drove to the overlook where he'd done the flyover her first day on La Cava. He killed the engine and leaned back in his seat. Splashed in front of them, the sun was a ball of shimmering orange sinking through gilded lavender clouds toward the Pacific. He uncorked a bottle of Scotch and handed it to her. Kate took it and drank, laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"What Jim said this morning - that I'm one of the Black Sheep. God, he was right." She shook her head. "I'm turning into one of you guys . . . drinking, fighting, next thing you know I'll be running black market deals and scamming Colonel Lard."

Greg chuckled.

"You're already scamming Lard," he said. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Kate agreed, although she'd rather not think about what would happen if he ever found out.

"Here's to sunsets on the ground," she said, changing the subject. She lifted the bottle in a toast, drank and handed it back to him. "I heard McNeil had an accident after I left this morning and has been, um, relieved of his duties."

"What did you hear?"

Kate didn't answer right away. She'd been at the hospital, letting Dee clean and dress her arm, when Casey showed up. He told her what happened.

She took Greg's right wrist and examined his hand. The knuckles were split and bruised. She studied his face. There wasn't a mark on him. Apparently McNeil hadn't had much fight left in him.

"I heard he fell out of his plane. That was careless."

"It was."

Kate realized she was still holding Greg's hand. She lowered her mouth and brushed a kiss across the torn knuckles, feeling a little guilty at how much she enjoyed the feel of his skin against her lips.

"Better?" she asked.

"It's a start."

She swallowed hard at the molten look in his eyes. He saluted her with the bottle and took a drink.

"About this morning. Remind me never to piss you off." The warm admiration in his voice rose through her like wine. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I didn't think it would come to that when I went out there. I'm really not a fighter. He just . . . I couldn't let it go." She paused. Greg was watching her, still looking for an answer. "On horseback, I guess," she finished.

"Horseback?" He looked doubtful.

"I grew up on horses. When I moved to California to be closer to Sarah, I worked as an exercise rider at Bay Meadows before I started at The Examiner. I never wanted to be a jockey but I love to ride. That's how I got started with the track photography that eventually got me into the AP." She studied the blunt strength of his hand, letting her fingers lace between his. "Once you learn to balance on top of a thousand-pound horse at 30 miles an hour, it's not a big deal to stay on top of a man for a few minutes."

He laughed out loud and she looked horrified.

"That's not what I meant!" She slapped him on the chest. "Stop it. I meant, riding teaches you how to use balance and pressure to get something that outweighs you a hundred times over to go where you want without killing both of you. It's a skill with a lot of applications."

"A lot of applications? You dropped a guy who outweighed you by about 50 pounds."

"I made my point, didn't I?" She couldn't keep the satisfaction out of her voice.

"Yeah, sweetheart, you made your point." Greg chuckled, then sobered. "I'm sorry you had to hear any of that. You know the guys had your six the whole time."

"I know. I appreciate it." Kate shrugged and helped herself to another drink. "Jerks like McNeil don't come around very often but when they do, I can handle it."

"Handle it? I'll take you on my side in a fight any time." They passed the bottle in comfortable silence. "Do you want me to tell the boys to back off about the other night, after the party? I know they're not leaving you alone about it. I'd hate for you to have to hurt one of them." Kate thought he was only half-joking.

"No." She shook her head, flattered that he would intervene on her part, a little embarrassed because they never talked about what happened that night. Or hadn't happened. "Your boys might be a little . . . forward . . . but they're just teasing. They aren't going to mess with me."

"Honestly, Cameron, after this morning no one in their right mind would mess with you."

She shifted in the seat, bumped her elbow and winced. Greg reached out and caught her left hand. He pushed up the loose cuff of her shirt and bent her elbow. A bandage covered the worst of the morning's damage but the abraded skin extended from elbow to wrist. He raised his eyebrows.

"Think you should have Dee look at that?"

"I did. She told me to keep it clean, put some ointment on it, blah-blah-blah, the standard Navy nurse's line, 'if you're not bleeding from the eyeballs you'll live.' She was all heart." Kate said drily. "I don't know what Casey sees in her."

Greg chuckled.

"I do, but gentlemen aren't supposed to kiss and tell."

Kate raised her eyebrows.

"Hmmmm, someone telling tales out of school?"

He didn't answer. Leaning forward, he gently kissed her arm along the edge of the bandage. Fireworks exploded under her skin.

"Better?"

"It's a start." She let her eyes linger on his, drinking in the angles of his face, dark hair windblown on the evening breeze.

Meatball was sitting between them, taking up a lot of room. Greg pushed the dog toward the back of the jeep.

"Come on, Meatball, move."

The terrier ignored him. He tried again with the same results.

Kate ruffled the dog's ears.

"Come on, buddy, get in the back."

Meatball hopped up and climbed into the back of the jeep, wagging his tail.

"That dog likes you."

"Of course he does. He's slept with me."

 **XXX**

 **2100 hours**

Casey burst into the Sheep Pen. He looked a little frantic.

"Anyone seen Greg? Colonel Lard just called for him. He's called for him twice already today and Greg's never around. Now he's really got his dander up and he won't take no for an answer. He sounds pissed."

"What day is it?" Jim asked, surveying his poker hand.

"Tuesday. What's that got to do with it?"

"Stateside papers get delivered to Espritos on Tuesday. I'd guess Kate wrote something about us Lard didn't appreciate. Again." Jim tossed two cards on the table, took two more. "What did he say, exactly?"

" 'Go drag him out of whatever nurse's quarters he's in and tell him to get his ass back here and call me or I'll have both of you up on charges of insubordination and refusing direct orders,' " Casey recited. He looked around the room. "So where is he?"

"I saw him and Katherine take off in a jeep," Anderson said. "I wouldn't try too hard to find them, if you know what I mean."

Casey ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up in all directions.

"Life was easier when I was in the hospital," he muttered.

"You're gonna be back in the hospital if you interrupt them," Boyle said. "Holy crap, could you guys believe Kate this morning? I thought she was gonna stuff McNeil in his own pocket. Greg's got his hands full with her."

Anderson looked at his watch.

"Yepper. I'm guessing by now he probably does. Both hands."

The men laughed. In the past, their leader's romantic entanglements were usually short-lived. Such was the nature of hook-ups during wartime, but the men suspected in Greg's case, it was because none of the nurses who crossed his path held his interest beyond a one-night stand. They never would have thought an Associated Press correspondent would be the one who changed that but the facts spoke for themselves. Kate added an element of interest to all of their lives but the subtle undercurrent of energy that swirled around her and their CO whenever they were near each other was something else altogether.

Groaning, Casey turned and left the Sheep Pen. There were a lot of places on this island they could be. This could take a while and in spite of Lard's pending charges, he really wasn't in a hurry to find them. He was gonna be damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

 **XXX**

The vibrant colors of the sunset faded to a pastel wash as the sun ebbed into the ocean, painting the water's surface with fire. The sky turned to indigo and a crescent moon hung low in the sky even as a faint rim of orange still hugged the horizon. Kate took off her boots and socks and stretched her legs out on the jeep's dashboard, crossing them at the ankles as she leaned back in her seat.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Greg asked.

"Doing what?" she looked at him through half-lowered lashes. She knew exactly what she was doing, although she'd only recently realized the effect her bare legs had on him.

"Do you know how hard it is to think about anything else when you do that?"

Kate could tell he wasn't trying to think about anything else.

"Good. Then we're even for all the times you've derailed my writing by just walking into my tent. And don't act like you didn't know," she added when he looked surprised. She took her feet off the dash and folded her legs neatly back on the seat. "Is that any better?"

"No."

"In that case . . ." she stretched out again, unrepentantly, feet on the dash.

He shifted toward her, rested a hand on her thigh and ran it slowly down to her knee. Her body twitched at the heat of his touch. If he felt it, he didn't say anything but she saw the corner of his mouth turn up. He was close enough she could see the small scar under his lower lip.

"And what does me walking into your tent have to do with you not being able to write?"

"It just . . . does." She swallowed hard.

A rogue breeze tugged a strand of hair across her face. Automatically, she reached up to tuck it behind her ear. Greg caught her hand and brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped.

Letting go of her wrist he cradled her face with one hand and kissed her. The kiss was gentle but she could feel the power in check below its surface. Heat shot through her and her heart pounded in her throat when he pulled back. She met his eyes, impossibly blue in the moonlight, saw his lips curve in lazy pleasure.

Wordlessly, he took her mouth again, long and slow. Her lips opened under his, inviting the kiss to deepen. He took the invitation, his tongue brushing hers with an intimacy that left her trembling. No man had ever kissed her like this before. His mouth teased, a prelude, a promise. She wrapped an arm around his neck, her other hand flat on the hard muscle of his chest. Her pulse echoed the surf crashing on the shore below.

Greg pulled her closer, one hand in the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. She came into his arms easily, her body's response threatening the limits of her self-control. His lips broke from hers to the line of her jaw, brushing her throat. His hand slid down her thigh, gripped her behind the knee and pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, answering the demand of his mouth, matching his heat as the embrace roughened.

Kate ran her fingers through his hair, thinking of all the times she'd dreamed of being alone, truly alone, with him. The impact was staggering. He kissed her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat. She arched against the heat of his body, his hands strong as they circled her waist. The more he touched her, the more she wanted. There was no rush, just the slow, sensual heat of his mouth and fingers.

Greg's hands slid slowly up her body, brushing lightly over her breasts to settle on the top button of her shirt. She answered his slow smile with one of her own, need creating invitation. He held her eyes, unspeaking. There was no sound other than the whisper of breeze and tug of fabric against skin as he unbuttoned her shirt and slid it off her shoulders. The breeze lifted the heat from her skin as his thumbs traced the line of her collarbones and caressed her shoulders, his touch light, sensation rushing to the surface until she thought she must be glowing with it. He lowered his eyes and laughed softly.

"No black lace tonight?"

"I told you, that's only for special occasions," she whispered.

He brushed his mouth across the top of her breasts. She shuddered with pleasure at the scrape of razor stubble against her skin. Reality surpassed anything her imagination had conjured in dreams. His mouth and hands captured the moment, savored it, handed it back to her, giving pleasure as easily as he took it.

She twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back, grazed her lips down his neck. He smelled faintly of aftershave and tobacco smoke and the heat of him under her mouth was intoxicating. She was trembling. God, how had she managed to keep her hands off him for so long? Slowly, she opened the buttons of his shirt and splayed her hands across his chest, welcoming the sensation of muscle under her palms. The absolute rightness of the moment was overwhelming. Without thinking, she rotated her hips, gasping softly at the impact of his body hard against hers.

"Don't start anything you can't finish, Cameron," he said, a quiet warning tinged with humor.

"I don't think I started this," she whispered. "You invited me up here, remember?"

"You told me to kiss you somewhere we wouldn't be interrupted, remember?"

His hands slid up to cup her breasts. The rush of heat from his fingers through the thin silk of her bra left her powerless. She pressed herself into his hands and tipped her head down to find his mouth again.

His hands were building anticipation with every touch, teasing her nipples until they were hard and aching. His mouth was hot against her throat when a motor sounded on the track leading up from the base. Headlights cut through the tropical night. Meatball woofed, a mix of warning and greeting.

"Greg?" a voice called. "Um . . . sorry about this . . . really . . . sorry . . . but . . ." It was Casey.

"Son of a bitch." Greg pressed his face against her neck as the lights bounced toward them up the rough track. She could feel his heart pounding in a cadence to match hers. His teeth nipped gently at her neck, then he slipped her shirt back up over her shoulders and rested his hands around her waist. She held his hot blue gaze, feeling her frustrated need echo through both of them.

"This better be important," Greg said as Casey pulled up next to them. Kate noticed he'd cut the lights on his jeep. That was Casey. Always being thoughtful.

"Colonel Lard's on the horn for you. Well, he not anymore. But he was before. And he wants you to call him ASAP." Casey must have realized he was babbling. He stopped talking and glanced at Kate, who was re-buttoning her shirt. She had no idea if it was straight or not.

"Did you tell him I was busy?"

"Yes, sir, I did. Very busy. But he wouldn't take no for an answer this time. He threatened to charge you with insubordination if you don't call him. And then he threatened to charge both of us with failure to obey a direct order if I didn't come find you."

"How long did it take you to find us?" Greg's hands were still around her waist, under her shirt. He didn't show any indication of moving them and Kate wasn't about to suggest it. The slow burn of his touch was still licking along the frayed edges of her self-control, keeping the embers glowing.

"About an hour and a half. I, um, didn't try very hard."

"Small miracles," Greg muttered. He shifted Kate off his lap and she slid back into the passenger seat. Casey had a reluctant smile on his face. Ignoring him, she leaned over and twisted her fingers in the front of Greg's shirt.

"I thought I told you to kiss me somewhere no one would interrupt us."

"I thought I was," he said and started the jeep. "Next time, I'll make damn sure of it."

 **XXX**

"Boyington! Why didn't you return my calls earlier?" Kate could hear Lard's voice echoing out of the receiver in the ops shack. She wondered if he always sounded that annoyed. She surreptitiously checked to make sure her shirt was buttoned evenly. It wasn't. She set about rectifying the situation. Casey didn't try to hide his grin. She glared at him. His grin grew broader.

"Well, sir, we are in the middle of a war out here." Greg didn't try to disguise the irritation in his voice.

"It's after 2200 hours. I doubt whatever you were in the middle of had anything to do with the war. And I've got better things to do than sit around waiting for you to call back."

"Yes, sir, so do I. And what I'm doing at 2200 is none of your business." Pause. "With all due respect." Eye roll. "Sir."

Kate smothered a laugh.

"Boyington! You have got to do something about this Cameron fellow! I just read his story about the Wiley kid. It makes him sound like he's the next triple ace but hasn't he wholesaled three planes since he's been with you? Do you know how much planes cost? And wasn't there some hushed up deal about him and an admiral's daughter getting caught in a restricted area while he was on R and R?"

Kate raised her eyebrows. Greg put a hand over the mouthpiece.

"That was Jim," he mouthed. Apparently didn't feel obligated to make the correction. He took his hand down. "TJ also splashed Hirachi, sir, which is something no one else has managed to do, including me. I read Cameron's story, thought it was a good piece about an American kid trying to do his best. I don't see what the problem is."

Lard's annoyance resonated down the line. Kate listened with interest. Greg had told her about Lard's obsession with regulations. Clearly positive press coverage only went so far.

"I'll tell you what the problem is, Boyington. It's not just the Wiley story. It's the French story. And the Micklin story. And every damned one of his stories. Cameron is making it sound like you and that merry band of pirates are the United States' pride of the South Pacific."

"Is that a problem, sir?"

"Problem?! You want to know if it's a problem? I'll tell you what the problem is!" Lard roared. "I'm up to my ass in Congressmen asking questions I can't answer! Washington is breathing down my throat and I'm still getting complaints about your boys raising hell with the nurses and the Navy. Get him over here to Espritos on the double. I want to talk to him about his coverage of your unit."

"That could be difficult, sir, the next transport won't be here for three days."

Lard muttered something incomprehensible. Greg didn't ask him to repeat it.

"I'm too busy juggling Congressmen to have time to fly out to your rock," the colonel snapped. "A while back Moore said he'd go over there. I'll see if he can break loose and do it."

"You do that sir."

The connection ended. In the silence that followed, Greg looked at Kate and Casey.

"We're gonna have company," he said. He looked closer at Kate. "Do you know your shirt's buttoned crooked?"

His eyes sparkled with blue heat. Buttons were the last thing on Kate's mind.

"Yours isn't buttoned at all," she said. "I need a drink."

 **XXX**

 _Just when I thought Colonel Lard couldn't find a way to be a bigger pain the ass, he'd interrupted us again. This was the third time, not that I was keeping track. Those stolen moments in the jeep were only a prelude of the time I wanted to spend with her but it seemed like no matter where we went, the war got in the way. And on top of it all, now General Moore was going to show up to meet K.C. Cameron. He was used to overlooking things where the Black Sheep were concerned but Kate was going to be really hard to miss. – GB_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: A visit from General Moore**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Breakfast with the Black Sheep was never for the faint of heart. Coffee went hand-in-hand with being mentally prepared to throw back whatever the boys might serve up and Kate could tell they were in rare form when she entered the mess that morning.

The knowing grins on their faces made it clear Casey's "gentlemen don't kiss and tell" attitude applied only when it came to things he did with Dee. Kate had no idea how much he'd seen before he killed the lights on the jeep after he found her and Greg last night but she suspected it had been enough.

A sweep of the mess showed her Greg wasn't there yet. If he had been, the boys would be a little more subdued in their teasing. Given the squadron's rabid interest in their relationship, Kate knew they wouldn't let up on her until he showed up and maybe not even then. She might as well face the music. If they didn't tease her about it now, they'd just make it a point to find her later. After a night of tossing and turning, she really needed coffee and wasn't about to hide in her tent until they all cleared out.

She filled a mug and scooped half-burned eggs onto a tray, then paused behind Casey and said quietly, "If you told them anything you saw last night, I am going to kill you and make it look like an accident."

She had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

"Too late, they made me tell them," he said. His grin was unrepentant.

Kate narrowed her eyes.

"How _much_ did you tell them?"

He swallowed visibly.

"Not much, really, just . . ." His voice trailed off. Kate looked around the room. Don was studying her with clinical interest. He whispered something to Bobby Boyle.

"White, ivory, pink or black?" Boyle mused. "I dunno. Greg will tell us that much. Wanna bet on it?" He and Don both turned cherubic smiles toward her. Kate rolled her eyes. Men betting on the color of her lingerie was the least of her problems.

"It's going to be a very messy accident," she hissed in Casey's ear.

Jim greeted her with a grin and patted the bench next to him.

"You look tired this morning, darlin'. I know it can be hard to sleep when it gets so hot at night."

Kate deliberately ignored the open space next to him and sat down on the other side of the table. She gave him her best smile and lied through her teeth.

"I slept wonderfully, but thanks for your concern."

"Are you sure? It can be hard to get any rest if you're not used to the heat."

"No, really, the heat agrees with me. I had the most wonderful dreams. You weren't in them."

"It's not too late for daydreams," Jim returned. "We don't go up until 0800. I got time if you do."

Kate raised her coffee mug and sipped.

"You don't have that much time," she said. "Trust me."

Jim shook his head. "No wonder Greg isn't out of the rack yet. Darlin', you're gonna be the death of that man."

Kate flushed with the memory of last night. She could still feel the hard promise of his body under hers.

"I doubt that very much," she said and buried her face in her coffee.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder.

"Morning, Cameron."

A warm rush tumbled through her at the sound of his voice _._ He had no business being this attractive so early in the day. Especially when the memory of his hands and mouth lingered with a physical impact.

"Morning, Boyington." Her voice was more controlled than she felt.

If the men expected her to throw herself into his arms they were disappointed. Greg filled a tray and say down next to her. He looked at the boys' expectant faces.

"What are you meatheads looking at?"

He followed their gaze to Kate, who stared pointedly at Casey, who shifted a little uncomfortably. Kate said, "Your exec thought it was necessary to bring the rest of the men up to speed on the . . . um . . . events . . . of last night."

She saw Greg raise an eyebrow in understanding.

"What? None of you have ever kissed a beautiful woman in the moonlight?" His tone defied argument and the boys developed a renewed interest in their breakfast.

"By the way," Greg said, addressing the room in general as the boys applied themselves to their meal, "General Moore may be dropping in. Try not to do anything that's going to land any of us under hack again. Or worse."

The conversation turned to more general topics and Jim leaned across the table toward Greg.

"If Moore shows up, what are you going to tell him about Katie?" he asked. "You can't keep her a secret forever."

Kate watched the men's faces. She'd been wondering exactly the same thing since Lard announced his intention to send Moore to La Cava to meet her.

Greg forked in a mouthful of eggs and grimaced. Kate couldn't tell if it was a reaction to the food or the question. He chewed and swallowed.

"The truth," he said slowly. "I'm going to tell him the truth."

 **XXX**

 _Tell him the truth? Unless the man was blind, I thought the truth was going to be fairly self-evident when I shook hands with General Moore for the first time. Greg seemed to have faith in him, though, and to tell the truth, I was getting a little tired of ducking and dodging every time upper level brass started sniffing around. It had taken nearly three days to get my clothesline and all its contents back from Jim after Lard stopped here the last time and that had almost been more trouble than it was worth. In the meantime, it looked like my education in Corsair maintenance was going to begin. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

"I read pages 172 to 180 and I understood exactly four words," Kate said to Hutch, handing the Corsair field maintenance manual back to him. "Just show me what you want me to do."

The mechanics were in the middle of their routine maintenance checklist after the morning's mission. Hutch was convinced Kate, with her small hands, could help them out and she'd agreed to give it a shot.

After a brief orientation - which consisted mainly of handing her a wrench - he set her to checking miniscule oil line connections buried deep in the planes' engines. The job was 10 percent visual and 90 percent tactile and Kate understood immediately how her smaller hands gave her an advantage over the male mechanics. She found it oddly satisfying work that gave her a new insight into Hutch and Micklin's constant struggle to keep the planes in safe repair.

It was also incredibly filthy work and after the first quarter hour, she was sweat-soaked and grime streaked. Whatever the mechanics got paid, it wasn't enough, she thought. Balanced atop a ladder, she was developing a new appreciation for their colorful mastery of the English language. She was tightening a loose connection when the hum of an engine signaled an incoming plane.

 **XXX**

When General Moore's L-5 touched down on the La Cava airstrip, Greg was waiting. He knew keeping Kate's identity under the radar of the brass on Espritos wasn't going to be possible much longer. It was sheer luck that she'd gotten here without anyone finding out she wasn't a man. Now, the ideas she crafted into stories and the blunt accuracy of her writing was making the Black Sheep look better than ever. As a result, Lard still on the hot seat. That was just one of the things Greg liked about her.

If Lard hoped embedding a correspondent with the 214 would have them all sleeping with the Marine Corps Manual under their pillows, he had been sorely disappointed. If anything, her continued presence was flying in the face of the regulations Lard held so dear. Even though assigning her here had been his idea in the first place, Greg had no doubt the colonel wouldn't hesitate to pull her out the minute he learned she was a woman. He wasn't sure what would bother Lard more – the fact K.C. Cameron was a woman living with the Black Sheep or the fact she wasn't cooperating with his campaign to whip them all into spit and polish compliance.

If push came to shove, Greg would rather Moore know the truth about Kate and he would rather Moore knew it first. The general tended to be open to negotiation when it came to unconventional situations and since the squadron had been formed, Greg had given him plenty of practice. He thought it was time to tip the scale in his favor and ensure Moore was firmly on his side. He was relatively sure the general would appreciate the irony of Lard mistakenly assigning a female correspondent to the Black Sheep. A couple of bottles of the squadron's best Scotch might help ensure that appreciation.

The general climbed out of the plane, pulled off his mae west and tossed it back through the open door.

"General!" Greg called in greeting.

"Boyington! Been a while since I've been out here." Moore looked around. "Still your own little slice of paradise, I see."

"We do what we can."

Moore snorted.

"You do more than that. This unit has the highest kill rate in the theatre, no matter what else you're up to." He paused. "I guess you know that's why I'm here. Lard is having a cat about this Cameron fellow. I can't wait to meet him. His coverage of the 214 has done more in six weeks to boost the war effort in the South Pacific than a half a dozen reporters could do in a year, no matter what Lard's got stuck in his craw. Where is he? I'll buy him a drink in that ramshackle bar of yours. Make sure it's the good stuff, though, not something your bunch of renegades has watered down."

 _No time like the present._

Greg pointed toward the flight line where a slender figure wearing cut-off fatigues, a T-shirt and boots balanced atop a ladder, half embedded in the engine of a Corsair. Although the figure's upper half was obscured by the plane's prop, the curve of hips and legs left no doubt as to the gender.

"What the hell? Since when do the nurses come out here to work on planes?" Moore was confused. "That is one spectacular set of legs."

"That's not a nurse, General, that's K.C. Cameron."

Moore stopped dead in his tracks.

"No! You're having one over on me."

"I'm telling you, sir, that's him. Her. Katherine Christine. K.C."

Moore fixed Greg with a look of disbelief. He shook his head slowly.

"I know there are female correspondents but this is the last place I'd ever look for one." He turned his gaze back to the figure atop the ladder. "That's K.C. Cameron? That's who put the Black Sheep on the front page of the New York Times? Those stories and photos are fantastic. They make the reader feel like they're right in the middle of things."

"Yes, sir," Greg replied. "She's very good at that." _Among other things._

"At least tell me she's living in the nurses' quarters and coming out here to . . .," he looked at Kate again, " . . . work?"

"No, sir, she's bunking here."

"Here?" Moore looked skeptical. "On the base?"

"Yes, sir. Those were Lard's orders, that she sleep with us." Greg didn't try to keep the grin off his face.

General Moore rolled his eyes.

"Greg, how is it Lard doesn't know about her? Didn't he get her assigned here in the first place?"

"He did, sir. But the Associated Press handled the arrangements. She was supposed to meet Lard on Espritos but it didn't happen." He paused. "She was a bit of a surprise to us, too."

Moore rubbed a hand over his face.

"You can't just have a civilian female living in the middle of an all-male military base. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was hoping I was going to get away with it and not have to explain it to anyone," Greg said honestly.

"You know you're breaking at least half a dozen Marine Corps rules regarding fraternization between the sexes? Your boys' reputation tends to precede them. How is it she's stayed here for six weeks and hasn't shot any of you?"

"It's been close a couple of times, sir, but it helps that the press aren't allowed to carry firearms. And she's very good at setting boundaries."

"Boundaries, my ass. She'd need a whip and a chair around your lot," the general snorted as they walked toward the plane.

"At first, we weren't sure she'd stay," Greg said. "But she, um, seems to like it here now."

Moore looked at him suspiciously but kept his mouth shut.

"Cameron!" Greg called. "Can you come down here? There's someone who wants to meet you."

Moore waved at him to be quiet.

"I like the view from here just fine," he said. "Those may be the nicest legs I've ever seen in my life."

"I'm inclined to agree, sir." He knew the general appreciated the female form as much as he did and he wasn't above hoping Kate would be willing to take advantage of the fact.

Kate slowly withdrew from under the loosened engine cowling. She flashed a smile at Greg, gave Moore a curious look, then did a double take when she saw the star on his collar. She made her way down the ladder and handed the wrench to Hutch.

"I quit," she said. "Cross airplane mechanic off my list of possible second careers."

"Thanks, Katie," Hutch replied. "Same time tomorrow?" He tossed her a semi-clean rag and she scrubbed at her hands.

"Only if I don't get a better offer by then," she muttered. She tossed the rag back at him, then turned to face the two men. Greg swallowed a smile. Her skin and clothes were streaked with grease. Her hair spilled out of its braid in unruly tendrils that framed the fine bones of her face. She looked hot and reckless and totally unexpected. She couldn't have looked any better if she'd tried, he thought. This was exactly what he needed to put Moore off balance and keep him that way. If anyone was good at putting men off balance, it was Kate. God knew she'd done it to him often enough.

"Cameron, this is General Thomas Moore," he said. "General, K.C. Cameron with the Associated Press."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Cameron." Greg noticed Moore's eyes taking in Kate's dishabille with appreciation.

"Please, call me Kate," she said, shaking the proffered hand. "It's very nice to meet you, sir. Greg, um, Major Boyington, has told me a lot about you."

"I bet he has. I understand you worked in the European theatre before coming out here, I'd like to hear about your impressions of our little war. What do you say we get out of this sun and discuss some of your recent work over drinks?"

"I'd like that, General," Kate said. She pushed sweaty hair off her forehead. "But please let me freshen up first. Why don't you gentlemen go ahead? I'll join you in a few minutes."

Greg smothered a chuckle. The smooth professionalism of her demeanor was in complete contrast to her appearance.

"Polite little thing, isn't she?" Moore commented, watching as Kate walked away.

Greg thought back to yesterday morning, watching her pound McNeil into the dirt of the airstrip. Then he thought back to last night, her body willing in his arms, her mouth hot against his skin.

"She has her moments," he said, voice carefully neutral.

Moore eyed him with dawning understanding.

"You know Lard will have her out of here in two shakes if he finds out she's not a man. He never would have approved posting a female correspondent out here."

"We'd like to keep her, General, she's good for morale."

"I bet she is," Moore replied. "The unit's morale in general or anyone's in particular?"

"I'd rather not say, sir."

Moore caught the barely suppressed smile.

"Are you telling me the two of you are . . .?" His voice trailed off.

"I'm not telling you anything. Sir."

Moore gave up.

"What the hell, Greg! How – aren't you quite a bit older than she is?"

"That doesn't seem to be an issue."

"If Lard finds out about this, he'll lose his shit," Moore said.

"I expect he will. But he sent her here in the first place. I'm just following orders."

"First time for everything," Moore muttered. "Now I really need that drink."

 **XXX**

Kate did a hasty cold water clean-up at the wash rack. Back in her tent, she pulled on a fresh T-shirt and shorts and re-braided her hair. She'd met upper level brass enough in her line of work not to be nervous, but never in cut-off fatigues with engine oil under her fingernails. Anywhere else, it would have been considered a breach of protocol not to dress appropriately for the meeting but nothing about this assignment was following protocol so why start now, she thought. She was fast becoming the poster child for flying in the face of convention.

She knew Moore's support was vital to keeping her at the 214 and she was aware of a degree of complicity between Greg and Moore, something going back to the beginning of the Black Sheep. She wasn't clear on those details but hoped it would be enough to keep the man on their side, not Lard's, when it came to her ongoing assignment here. The shrewd calculation in those dark eyes when he shook her hand left no doubt he wouldn't be a pushover, but it wouldn't hurt to put her own spin on things, either. After wrapping a fresh bandage around her arm and snagging a notebook and pencil, she left her tent.

Kate let the door to the Sheep Pen slap shut behind her. The two men were standing at the bar. Moore regarded her with interest as she crossed the room.

"Pour the lady a drink and let's get started," he said.

Greg poured a tumbler of Scotch and handed it to her.

"I'll warn you now, sir, she drinks as well as she writes."

"Then she's in the right place," Moore said.

Kate lifted her glass.

"To freedom of speech," she said.

"To freedom of speech." Both men tapped their glasses to hers.

Kate was totally aware Moore believed this meeting was at his convenience, not the other way around, but she didn't see any reason why it had to stay that way. She would prefer not to discuss her writing but put Moore in the spotlight instead. She had learned early in her career how to control an interview and was a master of the nuances required to work a reluctant source or swing favor in her direction.

"Shall we sit, General?" She gestured toward a table. When they were seated, she opened her notebook to a fresh page and picked up her pencil. "There are some things I'd love to hear your opinion about."

"Certainly. May I ask what happened to your arm?" He indicated the bandage. Kate smiled.

"It was nothing, just a little mishap," she said, then joked, "you should have seen the other guy."

Moore looked puzzled and started to ask for clarification when Greg interrupted.

"Really, sir, it's probably best you didn't see the other guy," he said. He refilled their glasses.

Moore pursed his lips and decided to drop the subject.

"Now," Kate said brightly. She crossed her legs and balanced the notebook on her knee, "What can you tell me about the plans we've been hearing about to send the new B-17E long-range heavy bombers into the Slot without fighter escort? Isn't that risky, given the concentrated Japanese presence in the area?"

 **XXX**

 _For the next hour and a half, I just kept the glasses full and watched her work. I wasn't sure what Moore's original intent was for his visit here but Kate derailed it the first time she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. If he'd planned to take her to task about the stories that had Lard pulling out what was left of his hair, he never got the chance. I don't think he tried very hard, either. – GB_

 **XXX**

Watching her work was a pleasure in itself. She slid effortlessly into the cool professionalism Greg remembered from the first night he met her. She was pulling out all the stops when it came to body language – the subtle drop of a shoulder or graceful motion of her hand while posing a question. Or maybe he was just so finely tuned to her body language he could identify the little nuances that spun an aura of allure while Moore became an unsuspecting but perfectly willing victim. Either way, the general's eyes were glazing over in a way that had nothing to do with his Scotch consumption. Kate's face was a study in innocence as she asked questions and took pages of notes, hanging on his every word with a breathless fascination. Every time she shifted her legs, the general's eyes glazed over a little more.

Finally, he drained his glass and stood.

"I've got to get back to Espritos," he said. "Thank you for your top rate Scotch and some very . . . interesting . . . conversation." Turning to Greg, he shook his head, a smile on his face. "I've been flying high cover for this unit since the beginning. I don't see any reason why that should change now." He looked at Kate. "It's been a pleasure talking with you, Miss Cameron. Keep up the good work. I'll tell Lard I've met K.C. Cameron and am confident he's doing his patriotic best to support the war effort . . . in every way he knows how."

"I appreciate that, sir," she said with a modest sweep of her lashes. Greg saw color rise briefly in her cheeks and noticed she was careful not to look at him.

Greg walked Moore back to the airstrip where the L-5 was prepping to take off. The general shook his head like a man coming out of a daydream.

"What just happened back there? I feel like she cast a spell on me. I'd have told her anything she wanted to know."

"I told you she was good."

"I'm not talking about her interview skills."

"I'm not either."

Moore shook his head.

"Greg, watching you get in trouble has always been one of my favorite forms of entertainment and you've outdone yourself this time. I hope you know what you're doing."

"I've got a pretty good idea, sir."

 **XXX**

Kate slouched in the chair with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, mentally reviewing the interview. She'd kicked off her shoes and propped her bare feet on the table. She heard the Sheep Pen door open and close and knew it was Greg by his stride.

"What exactly is Lard's problem with the 214?" she asked, not opening her eyes. Greg's hands dropped to squeeze her shoulders.

"Me, mostly."

Kate opened her eyes but didn't move.

"That explains a lot."

"Lard can't see beyond the end of his rule book. We tend to have differences of opinion on a lot of things."

Kate thought that was an understatement if she'd ever heard one.

"Would I be one of those things?"

"You'd be at the top of the list, sweetheart. If Lard ever finds out you're a Christine, not a Christopher, he'd find a way to yank you out of here and bring me up on charges at the same time. That's one of his favorite hobbies."

"Can we count on Moore to run interference?"

"After you got done with him just now? I'd say yes."

"You never get a second chance to make a first impression," she said briskly.

"God help Lard if you ever meet him face to face."

"What are the odds of that happening?"

"If I were a betting man – "

Kate snorted, then turned it into a cough. Greg tickled her ear.

"If I were a betting man," he repeated, "I'd say it'll never come to that. He'll find any excuse not to come out here and he'll take Moore at his word. But if you ever cross paths, I'd bet on you."

The door opened and closed again. They both looked up.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" Jim sauntered to the bar and helped himself to a bottle of beer.

"Since when has that stopped you?" Kate said drily.

Jim just grinned at her.

"What's on your mind?" Greg gave her shoulders a final squeeze and dropped into a chair.

Jim took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on.

"We gotta talk about Overton." He referenced the sergeant whose cooperation was going to make or break one of the Black Sheep's pending trade deals. He looked at Kate. "And you thought I was a pain in the ass."

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

 **2000 hours**

Kate looked at her notes and frowned. She hadn't been paying 100 percent attention during the mission briefing this morning and the story she was working on had disintegrated into a confused mess as a result. She sighed, chiding herself for her lack of focus. This was what she got for thinking about things that had nothing to do with the 214s involvement in the current campaign. There was nothing for it but to go get the facts straightened out.

Head down, flipping through her notebook, Kate knocked absently on Greg's tent frame and walked in.

"Hey, when you were talking about the Treasury Islands this morning, did you mean – damnit, Boyington!"

She slammed to a stop and stared. He was bare-ass naked, his back to her, a towel held loosely in one hand. She could smell soap on the warm air. Clean clothes were tossed haphazardly on the bunk. Greg looked over his shoulder.

"You know, Cameron, it's customary to wait after you knock, just in case the person doesn't want to see you."

She was at a complete loss for words, her eyes drinking in his nude body.

"Is anything wrong?" He shifted the towel and turned slightly. Humor lurked in the curve of his mouth.

She couldn't have moved if the tent had been on fire. The physical impact of his body resonated from four feet away, holding her like a force field. His grin deepened with a complete lack of self-consciousness. Kate's mind went blank. She swallowed hard. All right. It wasn't like she'd never given this any thought.

"No," she said, letting her voice drop, along with her eyes. "There isn't anything wrong."

There wasn't.

He was beautifully made and the more she looked, the better he got. She saw the boys in various states of undress all the time but Greg had a man's body, not a boy's. Hard lines of muscle sculpted his torso with definition she longed to touch. She'd seen him in shorts before, even soaking wet shorts, but this was something entirely different. His hips curved to powerful thighs, their smooth contours an extension of the muscle that defined him. She choked back a moan. Dear God, how many times had she caught herself daydreaming about what he'd look like in the nude?

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Kate." Humor wove its way through his voice.

"I'm not sure you're the one at the disadvantage," she said honestly.

She made a conscious effort not to flex her fingers. Outside, the chatter of the base faded to background noise. He was so close. She could feel the heat of his skin under her fingertips, feel the muscle tense and shift as she traced those lean contours. To touch him, to hold him -

She forced herself back to the present.

"Is this your version of turning the other cheek?" she managed.

"Give me a minute, I'll put some pants on."

"Don't go to any trouble on my account." She didn't even try to keep the smile off her face.

"Then maybe you'd like a closer look."

"Maybe I would, but it's not going to happen here." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Why not?"

"We don't have that much time."

"Trust me, I won't need long." A husky laugh. "I'll make sure you don't either."

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he didn't see the tremor run through her.

"What if I want it to take longer?"

His smile deepened, dimples destroying her. There was only so much a girl could take and she was at her limit.

"I can make that happen, sweetheart." His voice was silk over heat. The sunlight slanting through the tent door framed him in gold and shadow. His back side – from shoulders to hips to calves - was simply, exquisitely perfect.

"Hey, Katie, hey, Greg!" Casey's cheerful shout seemed to resonate from miles away as the younger pilot strode into the tent, waving a sheaf of papers. He nearly collided with Kate who was still standing just inside the doorway. Looking beyond her, said, "Oh shit, I'm interrupting. Again. Sorry-sorry-sorry. I'm leaving now. Never mind. As you were." He turned.

His back still toward her, Greg waved the towel with casual disregard. Kate sucked in her breath in a hiss.

"Stay, Casey, we need to go over those requisitions," he said. "The only thing you're interrupting is me getting dressed but Cameron beat you to it. She's trying to decide if she should be offended or not."

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. She was too far away for him to hear her heart pounding but from the look on his face, he knew exactly the effect he was having on her.

"I've made up my mind," she said firmly. "I'm not offended."

"I'm outta here," Casey said and took a step toward the door.

Without taking her eyes off Greg, Kate reached out and grabbed Casey's arm.

"No you're not, you're staying," she said.

"Really, sweetheart? I didn't think you were that kind of girl." Greg laughed. She watched the play of muscle across his back, shadows rippling from dark to light.

Kate bit her lip. The only thing keeping her from crossing the tent in two steps and saying yes to anything he suggested was Casey's presence. If Casey left, there would be nothing stopping her and damn it, this was _not_ going to happen here. God only knew who'd walk in next.

Casey looked distinctly uncomfortable. Kate didn't let go of his arm. She glared at him.

"You're not going anywhere. You – " she pointed at Greg. "Get dressed. Now."

"You missed your calling, Cameron," Greg said. "You would have made a great drill sergeant."

He tossed the towel aside and with his back to her, reached for his shorts. Kate didn't look away, couldn't have if she tried. The man had no idea how much power he had over her. Or maybe he did.

"Um, Kate?" Casey said. "You wanna let go of my arm? You're kind of hurting me."

Yeah. She wanted to let go of him and shove him out of the tent and spend the rest of the evening letting Greg purely ruin her in ways she'd only dreamed of.

"Oh. Sorry." She gritted her teeth and let go of Casey's forearm.

"What brings you over here?" Back still turned toward her, Greg stepped into his skivvies and pulled them up over his hips.

 _Damn._

"Um – " She started, completely unable to remember why she was here.

"Requisitions –" Casey said at the same time.

Greg turned around, fastening the buttons on his shorts.

"Let me see those requisitions." He held out his hand. Grinning, he looked at Kate and said, "When you make up your mind, let me know."

"Oh, I've made up my mind," she said softly.

 **XXX**

 _I'm not saying he did that on purpose. I mean, a guy has the right to change clothes in his own tent. And he had no way of knowing I was going to walk in. And I could have turned around and walked out. Yeah. Right. I knew he enjoyed teasing me – we were both kind of making a habit of it - but when he looked at me, his eyes took me somewhere the teasing was on an entirely different level. - KCC_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Mission to Espritos**

" _Man may have discovered fire, but woman discovered how to play with it." Mae West_

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"Mail call!" TJ said cheerfully, ducking into Kate's tent. "Something from the States for you." He handed her an envelope addressed in Sarah's familiar hand.

"Thanks, TJ." Kate shoved her current story notes aside and opened the letter, pausing as the return address caught her eye. It wasn't posted from Long Beach, Calif., but instead, Cat Island, Gulfport, Mississippi. What was Sarah doing in Mississippi?

 _Dear Katie,_

 _I hope this finds you safe and in good spirits. I treasure your letters and cannot begin to imagine the adventures you are having with your Marines._

Kate snorted. _Her_ Marines? More like she was _their_ correspondent. The boys had grown even more protective of her in the aftermath of the McNeil incident, although she noticed they were a bit more cautious when it came to teasing her about Greg. But only a tiny bit. She read on.

 _The "distraction" you mentioned in your last letter sounds positively delicious. I am anxious to hear more about how things are developing in that regard._

You and everyone else, Kate thought. She'd considered writing to Sarah about walking in on Greg in the all-together but had been unable to find words that would be suitable for her little sister. And besides, the censors would probably have a meltdown. Just thinking about it nearly gave her a meltdown. She refocused on the letter.

 _Oh, Katie, I have exciting news to share. I am sure you noticed I am not in California any more. I have decided my calling to support the war effort lies beyond the bomber factory. I have joined the United States Army!_

Kate blinked and re-read the last sentence. Sarah? Her baby sister, in the Army? She looked frantically for a date at the top of the page. The letter was dated five weeks ago. Five bloody weeks for a letter to get out here? For the love of God, Sarah had not only joined the Army, she was probably in charge of half of it by now.

Kate finished the letter slowly, absorbing the details. She loved Sarah dearly. They were the only family each other had, aside from a few aunts and uncles back in North Dakota. Kate had always taken an odd comfort in knowing Sarah was in the States, safely riveting aluminum skins onto B-24s. Now she'd gone and joined the Army. Kate turned the concept over in her mind, trying to come to terms with it.

The United States was in the middle of a world war in two different theatres. Although she'd probably never leave the States, the honest truth was there was no telling where Sarah might end up, especially with her chosen field. Kate felt like the line tethering her to home had been severed. Now she and Sarah were both adrift, subject to the whims of war.

Well. No. That was a little dramatic, Kate scolded herself. She hadn't been subject to any whim short of wanting to get the hell out of England when she volunteered to come to the South Pacific. She didn't regret it for a minute, although every night before she fell asleep, she thanked God all the men had made it safely through another day. Especially one of them.

If she hadn't come out here, she would have never met the Black Sheep, every single irreverent, irrepressible one of them. Would have never met the man who could take her somewhere far away from the dirt and heat and ever present danger of life on a front area base with just a glance. Who could cradle her heart and make her feel the strength of his hand on hers without ever touching her. She couldn't imagine her life without him in it.

Kate gave herself a firm shake. Who was she to expect her sister to stay safely in the civilian world when she herself had chosen to be drinking and brawling and loving squarely in the Empire of Japan's cross-hairs?

Loving? Technically she and Greg weren't lovers, although it wasn't for lack of trying. The night she'd walked into his tent while he was dressing had damned near been her undoing. But you didn't need to share a man's bed to fall in love with him. She shifted uncomfortably. Where had _that_ thought come from? She had no business falling in love with him or anyone else out here.

 _Damnit, Sarah, now look what you've got me thinking about._

The confines of her tent seemed suddenly claustrophobic.

 **XXX**

Kate walked absently through the base, Sarah's letter in her hand. For the first time since her early days here, she saw it with fresh eyes. The foxholes. The anti-aircraft guns. The endless piles of sandbags and camo netting. This was a front area and it came with no assumption of safety. They were, literally, in the Empire of Japan's back yard. It was easy to forget, with the white sand beaches and beautiful sunsets and warm, tropical-flower scented breezes. A gust of that breeze brought the whiff of aviation fuel from the flight line and with it, the reminder of their vulnerability here. While the Japanese had made several recent forays against the base, the Black Sheep had scrambled to knock them down before they got close enough to do any damage.

She skirted a foxhole, remembered Dee telling her about the air raid that provided her abrupt introduction not only to Casey but Jim, Greg and Meatball when they all ended up in a foxhole together.

There hadn't been a true air raid on La Cava since two days before she arrived, when a patrol of marauding Zeroes had singled out the island for their attention. She'd seen the damage they'd inflicted on Jim and TJ's tent and grinned wryly, remembering Jim's suggestion that she share quarters with him in spite of there only being one bunk in the half-ruined structure. The splintered wooden frames of the base's buildings still bore testament to the damage the low-flying Zekes had inflicted in that and other raids but in spite of the stories the boys told, the air raid siren had been silent. After months of nightly sirens during the Blitz, Kate welcomed that silence.

Seeking solitude, she put the base behind her and made her way down the trail to the beach. She dropped to the sand in the shade of a palm tree and wrapped her arms around her knees. In front of her, the blue water of the Pacific stretched toward infinity.

Her baby sister in the Army? Impossible. Sarah was a little girl. Okay, she was 20, almost 21 by now. And she was taller than Kate, with the same length of leg and generous curves, so really not so little in that respect, either.

Kate had been 20 when she joined the Associated Press and headed to Europe. Now, with the perspective of the last two years, 20 seemed impossibly young. Some of the Black Sheep were about that age, a tiny voice reminded her. Sarah would probably never see active duty in a war zone, Kate reminded herself again, and if she did, who was she to judge? What if Sarah's destiny was somehow tangled with the armies marching across Europe or through the jungles of the South Pacific? It wasn't like _she_ had a lot of room to talk. The letter fluttered loosely in her fingers. She read it again, unsurprised when it said the same thing but finding comfort in the confident, looping curls of her sister's handwriting.

"Boyle told me he saw you come down here." Greg's voice bumped her out of her reverie. He sat down next to her and gestured at the letter. "News from home?"

"Yeah."

"Bad?" He put an arm around her shoulders.

"No . . .," Kate rested her head on his shoulder, appreciating his concern. It was easier to keep her mind focused when he had all his clothes on, she thought absently. "Not at all . . . it's just . . . Sarah joined the Army!" she said in exasperation, letting emotion spill out.

"Is there a law against that?"

"She's my little sister! She doesn't belong in the military!"

"It's okay for you but not for her?"

Kate laughed reluctantly.

"I'm not exactly _in_ the military. I'm just living with it." She sighed. I guess Sarah will do whatever she wants to do."

"That seems to be a family trait."

Kate lifted her head from his shoulder and gave him a vexed look.

"Sarah's the _sensible_ one," she said. "I went off to Europe to have bombs dropped on my head, she stayed home with a safe, patriotic job building airplanes . . . until now . . ."

"Where's she taking her nurse's training?"

"She isn't going to be a nurse! The Army has a new program, Dogs For Defense, and she's going to be part of it. She took some fast-tracked basic training and she's already stationed in Mississippi. God knows it takes the mail long enough to get out here, she moved there weeks ago."

Before Greg could reply, Jim's voice rang out in greeting.

"Hey, Pappy! Hey, Katie!" Kate looked over Greg's shoulder to see him approaching. "We got problems with that bonehead Overton. He's dragging his feet on this carburetor deal and we're running out of time. Hutch and Micklin might be miracle workers but there's only so many times they can rebuild something that's plum worn out."

"What's Overton want now?" Greg asked. "He's already getting our best Scotch." It was his turn to look vexed.

"It's not that. He wants – " Jim broke off as the air raid siren wailed, the high-pitched sound cutting through the afternoon air. Kate shielded her eyes and scanned the sky. Two Zeroes were coming in fast from the north.

"What the hell?" Jim said. "Tojo hasn't bothered with us in weeks, now we're back on the entertainment lineup?"

Greg scrambled to his feet and pulled Kate up.

"Only two planes this time, no wonder they got by our spotters," he said. "Damnit, there's not enough time to get a couple of birds in the air."

The Zeroes swept in low and side-by-side, raking the base. Kate heard a not-so-distant explosion and the answering chatter of anti-aircraft fire. There hadn't been time to get planes off the line but gunners in the foxholes were giving the invaders hell. As the planes gained altitude and circled around for a second pass, one of the pilots spotted them in the open and lined up with the beach.

Greg and Jim swore at the same time. Kate would have joined them but her mouth had gone dry. She had endured having bombs dropped on her head during the Blitz but realized now that had been relatively impersonal. Crouching in an underground tube station while the German Luftwaffe emptied their bomber holds from 5,000 feet was one thing. Scrambling across an expanse of open beach while having the enemy firing at her from barely 200 feet off the ground was something else. Trying to run in the loose sand was a nightmare. Her feet couldn't get any purchase to accelerate. Greg grabbed her hand, pulling him with her, and with Jim on her other side, they sprinted toward the cover of the tree line.

The roar of the planes was deafening as they bore down. Ammunition pinged off rocks and sent up explosions of shattered driftwood. The rounds bit into palm trees, shredding fronds and stripping bark while hot lead sprayed up geysers of sand. Greg threw an arm around Kate's waist and dragged her down. She landed hard and both men covered her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The Zeroes blasted overhead, strafing the beach with their lethal rain, then faded into the distance.

It was over in seconds, leaving shredded foliage, the smell of something burning nearby and the raised voices of men on the base.

Greg rolled to one side.

"Where's a slit trench when you need one?" he muttered.

Jim groaned and lifted his head.

"Katie, I thought you'd make for a softer landing."

"Get off me, Gutterman." Kate's voice was muffled in the crook of her elbow.

"He's used to hearing that," Greg said drily.

"Yeah, yeah." Jim said. He dusted sand off his hat and jammed it back on his head. "Everyone's a comedian."

Kate started to push herself up, winced and rolled onto her back. She was light-headed, drawing air into empty lungs. Pain throbbed in her left wrist.

"You okay?" Greg asked, noticing the look on her face.

"No." She struggled upright and cradled her left arm close to her chest. "I was thinking about getting shot, not tackled, and I landed on my wrist. The two of you aren't exactly featherweights."

Jim snorted.

"That's the thanks I get for offering to take a bullet for you? I know a couple of other ways you could show your gratitude, darlin'." His grin was contagious and Kate couldn't help herself.

"Sorry, _darlin'_ , my dance card is already full."

She took Greg's offered hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her left wrist was already starting to swell.

"I think it's just sprained," she said through clenched teeth, "but it hurts like hell."

"I'll drive you to the hospital," he said. "Jim, keep working on Overton. Figure out what the hell he wants. We need those carburetors."

 **XXX**

"We heard the Zeroes," Dee said 10 minutes later as Kate sat on an exam table at the Navy hospital. Her wrist was turning purple and black. Greg lounged against the wall. "I didn't know they were using you for target practice."

"They've got lousy aim," Kate said. "They hit a Marine base and the thing they took out of commission was the photographer."

Dr. Jim Reese entered the room.

"Ya'll have all the fun over there," he said.

"In my book, fun doesn't hurt this much." Kate winced as he examined her wrist. An X-ray confirmed her self-diagnosis.

"Nothing broken," Reese said, rummaging in a drawer for a compression bandage. "How'd you sprain your wrist in an air raid?"

"I ended up on the bottom of a dog pile," Kate said, aware of Greg chuckling.

"Not quite what I had in mind when it comes to spending time with you on the beach, Cameron."

Reese looked like he was going to ask for clarification, then changed his mind.

"I'll wrap it, then it's just a matter of letting it heal. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. No typing." He looked pointedly at Kate. "I mean it – take it easy. No weight lifting. No hitting anyone. Give yourself about a week off." Then he looked at Greg. "I know you Black Sheep – make sure she puts the ice on her wrist, not in a glass."

 **XXX**

 _That evening, Greg made sure I did both. Since we were sitting in the Sheep Pen, his nursing skills were restricted to pouring my Scotch for me, which really wasn't necessary since I'm right-handed but he was awfully sweet about it and the combination of him and the whisky helped take my mind off Sarah. When the boys found out she'd joined the Army, they came up with all kinds of ridiculous scenarios to meet her. What the hell. Life is short. If that's what she wants to do, I figured it would all work out. It wasn't like she was going to end up out here or anything. I put it out of my mind and focused on my current problem – I was looking at a week of forced down time and I'm really bad at doing nothing. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Two days later**

Kate was in her tent, pecking irritably at her typewriter with her right hand, when Don stuck his head in.

"Hey, Katie, Pappy's having a meeting in the Sheep Pen." When she hesitated, he added, "He specifically asked me to get you."

Kate glanced at her watch. She was wearing it on her right wrist to accommodate the snug wrap on her left. Her wrist only hurt if she tried to use her left hand, which meant it hurt constantly for the first 24 hours as she repeatedly forgot she shouldn't be using it. After 48 hours, it was a lot less painful but another week of limited use was going to drive her mad. At least she was right-handed so it wasn't a total inconvenience. The men thoughtfully offered their help, especially with undressing and showering. So far, she'd convinced them she was managing. She'd been tempted to ask Greg for help with precisely those things but decided that would only create a bigger problem.

"Mission briefing already?" she asked, confused.

"No, he says we need to have a meeting of the minds."

Surprised but grateful for the distraction, she joined Don on the short walk to the Sheep Pen.

"How's the wrist?" he asked.

"Sore," she grumbled. "I can't hold my camera. Can't hold a notebook. Can't type. At least I can still drink."

"It could be worse," Don said agreeably.

 **XXX**

Greg and a dozen of the Black Sheep gathered for a council of war – one of the squadron's informal meetings to address any business that needed to fly below official radar.

Their current black market deal was stalled out. It was a simple Scotch-for-carburetors exchange between the 214 and the Seabees on Rendova. The middleman was a Navy supply sergeant on Espritos named Eugene Overton. The Black Sheep would deliver their end of the bargain to him and the crates containing the parts would make a return flight to La Cava the next day. It was an unusually straightforward arrangement with none of the convoluted exchanges of freight all over the Solomons that typically marked the squadron's deals.

"Here's the problem," Casey said. "Overton insists we send someone to seal the deal face to face. He got screwed over by a fast-talking Army shyster last time and now he doesn't trust anyone he can't meet in person. If we don't get someone over there by Thursday, he's gonna trade those carbs to the 182nd and leave us S.O.L."

"If we don't get those parts soon, we're not going to have enough birds left to need them," Jim observed. The men nodded in agreement.

"None of us can go," Greg said, leaning on the table. "First, with our current mission schedule we don't have time. Second, Lard would make sure none of us got landing clearance and if he got wind of us doing it anyway, we'd end up in the brig. We need to get someone over there to finesse the administrative end of things."

Kate had been doodling idly in her notebook. She felt his eyes on her looked up slowly. He was smiling. She felt the familiar tumble in her stomach. Dear God. There was no known defense against that smile.

"Someone who doesn't have anything else to do," he continued, not taking his eyes off her.

"Oh no," she said, scrambling backward from her perch atop a table, as if increasing her physical distance from him would change anything. "I am not getting in the middle of this! Absolutely no way."

"It'll be an overnight trip," Greg said, ignoring her protests. "You'll take Thursday's transport, meet Overton at the supply depot, show him everything's on the up and up. Then you'll supervise the unloading and loading, go have a nice dinner at the officers' club and fly back the next afternoon. What could go wrong?" His smile was angelic.

"What could go wrong?" Kate sputtered. "Let's start with the fact I'm a civilian! And I don't know anything about carburetors!"

"You don't need to. You just need to go head to head with Overton and I don't see that being a problem. You'll have to fit in as military personnel though," Greg said thoughtfully. "We don't want you drawing any attention. Overton wouldn't listen to a civilian anyway."

"Stop it! I haven't agreed to any of this! What makes you think he's going to listen to me? This is a really bad idea."

Greg crossed to the table and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. Turning his back to the room, he bent his mouth to her ear.

"Do this for me, Kate, and I'll make it worth your time." He squeezed her arm gently and kissed her ear. "I promise."

Sweet Jesus. As if that look hadn't been enough, his touch sent heat ricocheting through her body. She gritted her teeth.

"Let's say I agree to this, how am I supposed to convince a Navy supply sergeant to listen to me? He doesn't know me – he won't give me the time of day."

"Sweetheart, I've dealt with Overton and I know what he's like. My money's on you."

Several of the Black Sheep voiced their agreement.

"You've got this, Katie!"

"You'll be great!"

"What am I going to wear?" Kate said in exasperation. "I can't go like this." She waved a hand at her shorts and sleeveless shirt. "I don't have anything else."

"Casey, take Cameron over to the hospital and talk to Dee," Greg ordered. "She's got a vested interest in keeping your plane in the air. Tell her about our . . . situation . . . and see what she can come up with. She's dealt with Overton, too, so she can brief Kate on him." Looking at Kate, he added, "Your sister's in the Army, how do you feel about joining the Navy?" His eyes held hers, warm as a caress, impossible to refuse.

"All right," she said reluctantly, "but it had better be a very temporary commission. And you're going to owe me for this."

"Counting on it." The smile got even broader.

 **XXX**

 _We needed those carburetors and we needed them now, not two weeks from now when the 182_ _nd_ _decided to trade them back to us at double the price. I had no doubt Kate could handle Overton and Lard wouldn't get a whiff of the Black Sheep being on Espritos. And when she got back, this was one debt I intended to pay in full. - GB_

 **XXX**

"Ouch!" Kate yelped.

"Sorry," Dee muttered through a mouthful of pins. "Hold still."

"I am holding still. What's taking you so long?"

Kate was standing on a low stool in Dee's quarters, drinking a beer, while her friend knelt to pin a new hem into her borrowed skirt. Laura Halvorson, the skirt's original owner, and Kate's new wardrobe consultant, was enthusiastically coaching Kate on her new role.

"If anyone asks, you took your nursing training at Mount Mercy College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. You worked at St. Luke's Hospital in Cedar Rapids before you signed up and went through basic at San Diego," Laura said. "You served on a hospital ship at Guadalcanal before being re-assigned to La Cava." She sipped her beer. "This is so exciting!"

"That's one word for it." Kate closed her eyes. "How did I let him talk me into this?"

"I think he could talk you into anything," Dee muttered around her pins. "Stop moving!"

Laura had been happy to lend Kate her identity as well as her uniform. For 24 hours on Espritos, Kate would be Lieutenant Laura Halvorson from Morning Sun, Iowa. Both Laura and Dee thought the caper was insanely romantic. Kate just thought it was insane.

"You want me to impersonate an officer!" she had protested while Greg and Casey went over the details. "What if I get caught?"

"I've seen you in action," Greg said. "You're not going to get caught. Just walk in there with a smile and an attitude like usual and Overton doesn't stand a chance. We've done all the groundwork, you just have to go shake hands on the deal."

Kate suspected that like everything else with this outfit, it might be slightly more complicated than that but she wasn't in any position to argue. He was right about one thing – her sprained wrist left her with too much time on her hands and she was abysmally bad at doing nothing. After the recent days of forced inactivity, this insane trip was almost starting to sound good.

Dee took the pins out of her mouth and surveyed her work.

"Overton is an idiot," she said with conviction. "If you can handle the Black Sheep, you can handle him. Trust me when I tell you he's not the sharpest tool in the shed. I helped the boys out a few months ago and I had to draw blood from him. I don't think getting him to load some cargo can be any harder than that. Just bluff and don't back down."

"You know how well I play poker. Bluffing isn't exactly my strong suit."

"This, from the woman who had a Marine Corps pilot begging for mercy in the dirt a few weeks ago," Dee snorted. The story of how Kate had taken down McNeil had traveled the full length and breadth of the island.

"What's Greg giving you for doing this?" Laura asked. The sparkle in her eyes was wicked.

"You're nosy," Kate said. "Maybe I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart to support our boys."

Dee laughed.

"Oh yeah, Katie, the goodness of your heart and because I bet Greg made you an offer you couldn't refuse." Dee paused, looking thoughtful. "Casey told me about the night he interrupted the two of you on the overlook. Didn't sound like you were refusing him then, either."

"I think Casey told everybody about that," Kate said. "You'd think no one around here has ever made out in a jeep before."

Dee kept pinning.

"If Casey hadn't shown up when he did, I get the feeling the night wouldn't have ended with just making out in a jeep. It really is entertaining to see what the two of you are going to do next."

Kate snorted.

"Glad I'm here to provide the entertainment."

"Look," Dee continued, "the Black Sheep are generally all about the conquest, there's not a lot of long-term romance involved. Except for Casey and me," she amended. "But Greg hasn't looked at another girl since you showed up and the two of you haven't even . . . " She looked up, brows arched.

"Be careful where you're waving those pins," Kate said, deliberately sidestepping the implied question. "And I don't know why you feel compelled to keep track of where I'm sleeping."

"Because the two of you are just so . . . " Dee paused, searching for words. " . . . so damn perfect for each other. There's no stopping either one of you when you get an idea in your head. I've never seen either of you back down from a fight – the worse the odds are, the harder you charge in. And you're just as bad as he is when it comes to, um, creative problem solving."

"The man is gorgeous," Laura sighed. "I don't know how you've stayed out of his bed this long."

Kate caught herself wondering exactly the same thing more than once. She felt heat rising in her cheeks when she thought about it.

"The fates seem to be conspiring against us," she said.

"Fates?" Dee looked dubious. "Casey says he's never seen Greg spend so much time with a girl. That's what's got them all talking – you're not just the flavor of the week. Of course, they think the two of you are, well, you know, and they all figure you must be pretty – "

"Casey talks too much," Kate cut her off with finality. Dee had a point. She and Greg spent a lot of time together for no other reason except they enjoyed each other's company. Life with the Black Sheep went on with the usual mix of off-color teasing but he deliberately made time with her that had nothing to do with her writing.

Their time alone was fleeting and subject to constant interruption. They walked on the beach, throwing sticks for Meatball, and Jim pointed out their nightcaps had become as predictable as a German train schedule. She tried playing poker with him again and won a hand after she propped her legs up on a nearby chair and pretty much short-circuited the entire table. Greg had retaliated by fixing her with such a smoking look that she lost the next three hands straight before giving up.

By unspoken accord, the two of them made it a point to avoid public displays of affection and took advantage of stolen moments when they could – the squeeze of a hand, a lingering kiss in a secluded place – but otherwise, they both downplayed the romance.

It was driving her crazy.

All he had to do was touch her – kiss her neck in the darkroom or brush her arm on the flight line – and the world faded to mist until it was just the two of them and no one else. Nothing else mattered. The war vanished. The only things she was aware of were his body, his mouth, the beat of his heart, the scent of his skin. To their credit, the boys were becoming adept at discreet throat clearings.

Dee put a final pin in the hem.

"Does that look even?" she asked Laura, who nodded in affirmation. "Okay, take it off. I'll stitch it in tonight."

Kate stepped off the stool and slid out of the skirt, avoiding the pins. Dee surveyed her.

"I don't suppose you own a slip? Or any decent stockings?"

Kate shook her head. She was starting to think the most complicated part of this enterprise was just going to be getting dressed for the part.

"Don't worry, the girls will raid their closets for you," Dee said. "Again. Dealing with you is like sending Cinderella to the ball."

 **XXX**

 _I couldn't believe how easily he talked me into this - just a look and a promise and I was saying yes to things I barely understood. If anyone else had asked me to walk into the middle of a U.S. Navy base and impersonate an officer to seal an illegal black market deal under the nose of the colonel who would only be too happy to see me gone, I would have told them to take a hike. But when it came to Greg, my heart had gone into business for itself. – KCC_

 **XXX**

After living in loose-fitting shorts and shirts for weeks, it took a bit to adjust to the snug feel of the uniform but Laura and Dee both assured her she looked stunning in it. Kate barely recognized her reflection in the mirror after Ellen wrestled her hair into a tight knot and set a cap on her head. She was as spit and polish groomed as Dee, Laura and Ellen could make her. The three girls were still coaching her on decorum when Greg picked her up at the back door of the nurses' quarters.

He traced a scalding look up and down her figure.

"You should have considered joining up sooner. You look incredible in that uniform."

"I just hope I'm not wearing it straight into the brig or wherever they throw correspondents who impersonate officers," she said.

They pulled up at the airstrip where a few members of the squadron loitered under the guise of offering moral support. The boys whistled approvingly when Kate stepped out of the jeep. Greg took her elbow and walked her out to the transport, carrying her bag.

"Just be yourself," he said. "You'll do great. Overton knows you're coming and he's ready to wrap up the deal."

"Anything for you, Boyington." In spite of the butterflies in her stomach, she meant it.

"Promise?" He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a fast, hard kiss and it caught her off guard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the embrace with as much heat as it was given. There was a good deal of hooting and cheering from the assembled men. Kate was slightly dizzy when they broke apart.

"Promise," she managed, gasping for breath.

Greg tossed her bag to an enlisted man waiting in the plane's doorway, then handed her up the steps.

"See you tomorrow evening, Lieutenant."

 **XXX**

 _I watched the plane taxi down the airstrip and thought about that promise. It was going to be a long 24 hours. - GB_

 **XXX**

"I ain't dealin' with no dame." Supply sergeant Eugene Overton crossed his beefy arms and glared at Kate. "I don't care if Boyington put his gold plated seal of approval on your ass, you ain't in charge of this operation. If one of them boys don't get over here, the deal's off."

Clearly, Greg had neglected to tell Overton the person coming to finalize the deal was of the female persuasion. She suspected this omission might have been on purpose. Well, she supposed, the element of surprise was usually a good way to knock the odds in her favor and she'd definitely caught the sergeant off guard when she walked into the supply depot on Espritos. His expression had gone from surprise to condescension to leering belligerence in a matter of minutes. Now it wavered between the latter two.

"That, sir, is where you're wrong," Kate said. She noted with satisfaction he looked a little worried when she didn't back down. She glanced beyond Overton's considerable bulk to where several clerks were watching their exchange with interest.

Beaming, she said, "Tell you want, Sergeant, let's go for a walk, just you and me, and discuss your options." Kate wasn't sure how this was going to play out and thought the fewer witnesses there were, the better. Before he could protest, she slipped an arm through his and drew him out the door of the office. Overton looked at her wildly but could hardly make too much fuss under the watchful eye of the clerks. They stepped outside and strolled a few yards along a neatly graveled path to the shade of a palm tree.

Once they were out of earshot of the clerks and any passersby, Kate dropped his arm and rounded on him.

"I didn't fly over here to argue about this. Do you see these, Sergeant?" She tapped the insignia on her collar, her tone clipped.

Overton shifted uncomfortably. The only thing worse than dealing with a female officer in the first place was dealing with one who was about to pull rank on him.

"Yes, ma'am," he said grudgingly.

"Good." Kate took a deep breath and stepped fully into her role. "I believe my bars outrank your stripes, so let me tell you what's going to happen here. We're going to get in that jeep and drive back out to the airstrip and I'm going to watch you unload that Scotch and do whatever it is you do with it. Then you're going to have those carburetors loaded on that C-47 by 1500 hours tomorrow. All of that whisky had better be where it belongs when the Seabees come looking for it," she paused for emphasis, then went on, " _all_ of it Sergeant, not just most of it. You got that? Or I'm going to tell Major Boyington that you couldn't keep your hands off my gold plated ass and he's going to fly over here and use you for a punching bag."

Overton paled. He was clearly familiar with Greg's operating procedure but he still balked at being told what to do by a woman. He scuffed a foot in the gravel, stalling, then looked at her suspiciously.

"You know a nurse named Lieutenant Ryan, by any chance? I had to deal with her a few months back and the two of you sure act alike."

"Never heard of her," Kate said briskly. "Sergeant, I just came off two month's duty at a front area hospital. Believe me when I say I have better things to do than stand here arguing with you. I'm doing this as a personal favor to Major Boyington and every minute you spend flapping your gums is going to cost you a bottle." She checked her watch. "You're already down one bottle. Shall we make it two?"

Overton realized he was outclassed. He thought it might have been easier to deal with Boyington. This girl scared him a little.

"No, ma'am," he said resignedly. "Let's go."

 **XXX**

Greg had told her to enjoy dinner and drinks at the officer's club and Kate thought she'd earned it. The promise of food that hadn't been dehydrated, powdered or tinned at some point before arriving on her plate was enticing. She found her quarters, freshened up, and with her Navy nurse's persona firmly ensconced, arrived at the officers' club at the height of the evening crush. Conversation hummed and cutlery clinked against china as a four-piece jazz ensemble played in a corner. Oddly enough, she found herself missing bumping elbows and trading insults with the Black Sheep at evening mess.

She was seated at corner table, savoring an excellent merlot, lost in thought, when a man's voice said, "Excuse me, Lieutenant? The headwaiter told me you were dining alone and since it's so crowded this evening, I wondered if you would care to share a table?"

Startled, she looked up. The man had pale blue eyes, a bald pate and the thickening body that comes with too many years of flying a desk but he carried himself ramrod straight and the creases in his uniform trousers were knife sharp.

Kate sighed inwardly. As much as she'd hoped for a quiet dinner by herself, she knew it was inevitable a woman dining alone in officers' country wouldn't stay that way for long. It might be easier to accept the company of someone higher up the food chain – she noticed the eagle on his collar – who would be content to chat about his wife and kids back in the States instead of leaving herself open to assault by younger men who were looking for more than just a dinner companion.

"Company would be lovely." She smiled. "I'd be pleased if you would join me, sir."

"Thank you." The man stuck out his hand in greeting. "I'm Colonel Thomas Lard."

 **XXX**

 _Oh bloody hell. – KCC_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Don't hold back**

" _What's so great about daylight? Some of the best times I've ever had were in the dark." Greg Boyington (Flying Misfits)_

 **XXX**

 _Oh bloody hell._

"Lieutenant Laura Halvorson," Kate answered, amazed at how smoothly the deception rolled off her tongue as she shook Colonel Lard's hand. Two months of living with the Black Sheep had given her skills she didn't know she had.

Lard settled himself across from her.

"I don't believe I've seen you here before, are you new to Espritos?" he asked, summoning a waiter.

"I'm stationed at the hospital on Vella La Cava." Kate smiled and reminded herself to keep breathing. So _this_ was the infamous Colonel Lard. Under the litany of things that could go wrong on this trip, having dinner with Greg's arch nemesis had never come up.

The waiter arrived.

"I'll have a Scotch," Lard ordered, "and whatever the Lieutenant would like."

 _The lieutenant would like to get the hell out of here._

She smiled pleasantly and ordered another glass of wine.

"How long have you been stationed on La Cava?"

Kate took a deep breath and forced herself to relax into the small talk.

"Not long, I arrived just a few months ago."

 _Stick as close to the truth as possible and you'll be fine._

The waiter brought their drinks and took their dinner orders. Lard sipped his Scotch and studied her thoughtfully.

"If you've been on La Cava for two months, you would have arrived about the same time as K.C. Cameron, the AP correspondent stationed there," Lard said. "Have you ever run into him?"

Kate let her eyes go wide.

"Oh, yes, sir. He's been at the hospital a lot, interviewing the wounded who come in off the hospital ships, and, of course, talking to the Black Sheep. They fly such dangerous missions, they're always getting hurt."

 _Half the time it's from pounding on each other but that's beside the point._

"Yes. The Black Sheep." Lard set his glass down a little harder than Kate thought necessary.

"Tell me, what's Cameron like?" he continued. "I've never met him but he's an absolutely top rate photographer. His writing certainly seems to be popular. I'm amazed at how good he makes the Black Sheep look."

 _They make themselves look good, I'm just telling their stories._

"Oh, he's very thorough, sir," Kate said. "He strikes me as someone who doesn't let much get in the way of his job."

 _Although this is not the job I signed up for._

She forced herself to sip the wine slowly.

 _Greg, you're going to pay for this when I get back._

"Do you know how he's getting along with Major Boyington?"

Kate nearly choked on her drink.

"Major Boyington?"

"Yes, Major Greg Boyington, the CO of that band of misfits. Surely you've met him by now."

 _Yeah. You could say that._

"Oh yes, sir, I met him at a party." Kate lowered her eyes while she took a deep breath and willed her heart to stop pounding erratically. She didn't need to give away just how well they'd met. "He's very charming. He and Cameron seemed to hit it off." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I think Cameron drinks too much, but a lot of those newspaper people do, you know."

Lard snorted.

"Yes, well, he would get along fine with Boyington, then."

 _Yes. Yes, he would._

 **XXX**

 _I had a couple of drinks in the Sheep Pen and took $50 from Casey and Anderson in an evening of poker. The base felt empty without her there. I figured she was enjoying the relative civilization of Espritos but I missed looking up to see those gray eyes watching me and the irreverent humor that was always lurking behind that smile. I wondered how things had gone with Overton. I wondered how she was spending her evening. I didn't realize how much I liked having her here until she was gone. - GB_

 **XXX**

The waiter reappeared, bearing plates of food. Kate took advantage of the brief lull to redirect the conversation. As long as she was sitting at the same damned table with the man she might as well get her money's worth.

"I heard so much about the Black Sheep before I was transferred here. It's been delightful to meet them," she said, taking a bite of fish. "Everything K.C. Cameron writes is absolutely true. And they throw the most divine parties."

Lard's smile was strained.

"Don't you find his reporting to be a little . . . optimistic?" the colonel asked. He looked like he had bitten into something unpleasant.

"In what way, sir?" Kate was starting to enjoy herself.

"I know for a fact every man in that unit, including the major, has been up on charges more than once, and he doesn't bother with anything resembling discipline. They're rogues and scoundrels, the lot of them, Boyington included. They break regulations like there's no tomorrow but Cameron's stories make it sound like they bleed red, white and blue."

"Don't they have the best combat record in the theatre?" Kate's face was a study in innocence. "And given the supply line problems and constant maintenance issues with their aircraft, surely that speaks for itself."

"You seem to be awfully familiar with the Black Sheep, Lieutenant."

"A friend of mine is dating one of them and I visit the base with her sometimes," Kate said airily. "I've gotten to know the boys pretty well. Don't you think men in front area units may find it necessary to bend the rules from time to time, for the greater good?"

"The 214 is in the habit of bending rules until they break."

"But look at what they can do in the air. Gr – Major Boyington has certainly instilled some level of discipline for them to perform so well as a combat unit."

Lard's face was a study in conflict.

"Discipline? It doesn't carry over to the ground, I can tell you that, Lieutenant. Every time those boys come over here, half of them end up in the brig. One of them – I don't remember which one – got caught in a compromising position with an admiral's daughter not that long ago but . . . ahem . . . that's not a tale for a lady's ears."

Kate met his gaze and held it.

"Given their kill ratio, maybe it would be wiser for you to look the other way occasionally instead of expecting them to maintain such strict adherence to the regulations."

Lard eyed her. For a heartbeat, Kate thought she had overplayed her hand. Then he chuckled.

"You young nurses are such romantics. I'm sure the Black Sheep seem very dashing but let me assure you, Lieutenant, they are nothing but trouble. You'd be wise to keep your distance from the lot of them, no matter how charming you find them, especially Major Boyington."

 _It's a little late for that._

Talk turned to more general topics and she asked a series of questions about current campaigns in the South Pacific.

"Really, Lieutenant Halvorson, if you ever give up nursing, you'd have a great career in the press corps," Lard said at the conclusion of the meal.

"Oh don't be silly," Kate returned, patting her mouth with the linen napkin. "What girl in her right mind would want to do that?"

When Lard asked if she cared to join him for an after-dinner drink in the bar, she decided she'd pressed her luck far enough and begged off. He thanked her for her gracious dinner company and Kate walked back to her quarters through the gathering twilight.

 **XXX**

 _By that point I could have used something with more backbone than merlot but a little voice told me to quit while I was ahead. I peeled myself out of Laura's uniform and tumbled into bed. Sleep didn't come easy. I had a soft mattress, clean sheets, four walls with a door that locked . . . and the man I wanted to share it with wasn't even on the same island. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Hutch leaned against the jeep, squinting against the late day sun and idly scratching Meatball's ears. Greg paced impatiently as the C-47 landed and taxied to a stop. While he had every confidence Kate could handle anything Overton threw at her, in hindsight, turning her loose on a Navy base might have been a little hasty.

She stepped out of the plane's hold, the sun striking burnished highlights into her hair. Greg noticed her curls weren't quite as neatly ordered as when she'd left. It only added to her allure. Nothing about her would ever be fashionably tidy.

"Cameron!"

"Boyington." Her smile was innocence over humor.

"How'd it go?" He met her at the bottom of the steps and took her bag. Hutch was practically jumping up and down, trying to see if there was a crate of carburetors on the transport.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?" Kate asked. Her eyes sparkled. He took a few seconds just to appreciate her, the smile, the curves, the attitude. This was what he'd missed in her brief absence, the challenge of having her in his life.

"I want the complete version." God. He had so many unasked questions but the only thing that really mattered was that she was back. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until he'd been halfway to her tent for a nightcap the previous evening before remembering she wasn't there.

"That could take a while." She looked at Hutch. "Short version, the carburetors are in there, all present and accounted for. I think Sergeant Overton will think twice before he gets too demanding with you boys again." Hutch vanished into the plane. Turning to Greg, she took a deep breath and said, "I had dinner with Colonel Lard last night."

"You did what?" He grabbed her arm and stopped her in mid-stride. "Which one of you - K.C. or Lieutenant Halvorson?"

"Lieutenant Halvorson was advised that young nurses such as herself were hopeless romantics and the Black Sheep are nothing but trouble. Lard was of the opinion a nice girl like me should stay away from all of them in general and you in particular." She was trying to look innocent, Greg thought, and she almost pulled it off except the corners of her mouth kept twitching up in a smile. She was no poker player. He breathed a sigh of relief but didn't let go of her arm.

"Did you tell him it was too late for that?"

"No. I was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it. It looked like he was getting indigestion after I told him how well K.C. got along with you because he liked your Scotch."

"My Scotch? Is that the only thing K.C. likes about me?"

"Among other things." She looked around. The base was unusually deserted for early evening.

"Where is everyone?"

"Down at the beach. The guys built the mother of all bonfires. We don't have a mission tomorrow and they thought a party was in order to celebrate you pulling off this deal."

"Wasn't that a little presumptive?" This time her innocence was real. "What if the whole thing had gone south?"

"They have faith in you, Cameron. We've all seen you in action – you're as good as any of the boys under pressure. Hell, you're better than most of them and your legs are spectacular."

She blushed. He liked the soft rise of color in her cheeks and the self-deprecating laugh. She reached up and gripped his shoulders.

"Don't ever ask me to do anything like that again. I about had a heart attack when Lard introduced himself." She took off her garrison cap and pulled the pins out of her hair. "I need to get out of this uniform and you owe me a drink. Or two." The look on her face made it clear she intended to collect.

He drove her to her tent, followed her inside and dropped the bag on her bunk. He was still enjoying the sight of her in uniform. She had an aura of quiet intensity when she was dressed in civilian clothes. Put her in a uniform and she was positively dangerous. He wondered what was left of Overton. Hell, he wondered what was left of Lard. He wished he could have been there to see that.

"I need to change," she said with her back to him, hands already tugging at the zipper of her skirt.

"Don't let me stop you."

"Go away." Laughing.

"What if you need help?"

"I can take my clothes off by myself." She pinned him with a smoky glare. "Turn around."

He turned around and fixed his eyes on the tent's ceiling. Behind him, he could hear the thud as she kicked off her pumps. The slow buzz of a zipper being drawn down was followed by the rustle of fabric as she slid out of the skirt.

Then she was undoing the buttons on her shirt with brisk efficiency. He didn't know buttons could be so loud. The swish of the blouse dropping onto her bunk echoed like a drum. There was a secondary swish and something silky sailed over a chair in his peripheral vision. A slip.

"Did you guys go up this morning?"

Her bunk creaked. She must be sitting on the edge to roll down her stockings. The thought of her unhooking garters and rolling silk slowly down those legs was almost too much. He had to fight not to look over his shoulder. He jerked his mind back to her question.

"Yeah. It was a milk run of a bomber escort for the 182nd. They didn't take it personally that they lost out on the carburetors. Are you dressed yet?"

He knew she wasn't, even as he asked. She had to be wearing next to nothing now, only a foot or two behind him and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. At least not right now. He caught the scent of her skin on the evening air. Soap. Lotion. That undefinable scent that was Kate.

"No. I'm not. Don't turn around! I'm starting to think Lard was right. You're nothing but trouble." He could hear the undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

"You're a fine one to talk."

Her hands settled lightly at his waist and he felt the warm pressure of her body against his back. He started to turn. She stretched to nip his ear.

"Ah-ah! I'm not decent." She kissed the back of his neck and he jerked in surprise when her hand dropped lower and squeezed his hip.

"Damnit, Cameron. If I didn't have a sense of honor . . ."

"You just stand there and think about your sense of honor."

She padded to one corner of the tent and he heard a trunk open and close. More rustling, then the sound of clothes being pulled on. He could envision the flat planes of her belly, the curve of breast and hip, the dusky pink of nipples under whatever ragged silk passed for her bra that day. Finally, the cot creaked as she sat again.

"Okay, I'm dressed," she said brightly. He turned. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt now, shoving her feet into canvas shoes and catching her hair into a loose tail that tumbled over her shoulders. If she had any idea of the torment the last few minutes had caused him, she didn't act like it.

"Paybacks are hell, Cameron," he said softly.

"Then let's go." She gave him a look that left him wondering exactly which of them was going to be doing the paying and ducked out of the tent.

 **XXX**

Greg wasn't kidding. It was the mother of all bonfires. The heaping pile of driftwood on the beach defied several engineering principles. It looked like everyone from the base and at least half of the nurses from the hospital were there. The Black Sheep all wanted to hear about the caper and Kate made sure Dee, Laura and Ellen were recognized for their contributions.

"I might as well give up writing and go straight to Hollywood," she said, hugging all three of them. "I've got a wardrobe consultant, a hair stylist, a seamstress and more acting coaches than I know what to do with. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Told you Overton would be a piece of cake," Dee said.

"Maybe I'll consider enlisting after all," Kate mused. "It was kind of a rush when I got to pull rank on him. Flashing my press credentials won't be nearly as much fun after that."

"I knew he wouldn't be any match for you." Greg pulled her close and kissed her lightly. "All right, let's hear the story from the start. Don't leave anything out."

There was a great deal of cheering when Kate related the part about suggesting Lard get off the Black Sheep's collective ass about regulations. She produced the bottle of Scotch she'd taken from Overton and made sure the mechanics got the first toast. Then someone set a torch to the bonfire and any serious element of evening went up in flames.

"I'll be happy to make sure you're compensated for your troubles," Jim offered with a suggestive grin.

Kate rolled her eyes. Jim's teasing was such a routine part of her life she'd worry about him if he stopped.

"In your dreams." She shoved him gently out of her way and caught Greg's eye. "Greg and I had an agreement. He owes me."

Several of the men whooped appreciatively and the party surged into high gear.

The sun began to set as the revelers grouped around the fire, sharing a series of communal bottles. Kate had refinished playing her conversation with Lard for the tenth time and talk turned to other things.

Greg's arm wrapped around her waist and she leaned against him, laughing at Casey and Dee's combined re-telling of Dee's role in scamming Overton into having blood drawn while the Black Sheep helped themselves to barrels of engine oil in the supply depot. Greg bent his head to brush his mouth along her ear.

"Come with me, Kate," he said softly. She froze. He rarely used her first name and when he did, it took her breath away. The look on his face left no room for argument.

Without talking, he led her to a nearby jeep and they got in. If the boys noticed them leaving – and Kate was pretty sure they did - they didn't say a word. If anything, they seemed determined not to acknowledge their departure. She thought that was a little odd but under the circumstances, it wasn't the first thing on her mind.

Greg drove along the beach to a small cove on the north end of the island. Kate had never been to that part of La Cava before but she recognized it as the cove that lay directly below the overlook where they'd parked to watch the sunset. Rock walls rose on three sides and a fringe of vegetation edged the white sand beach. The western sky was a mad swirl of color as the sun lowered into the Pacific. Getting out of the jeep, Greg tossed her a blanket. A scaled down version of the Black Sheep's massive pile of driftwood awaited a match. She raised her eyebrows and he answered the unasked question.

"I didn't plan on us spending the whole night with that bunch of rogues."

Kate felt her heart skip a beat. She'd heard that tone of voice in her dreams, smooth as whisky and just as powerful. She spread the blanket on the sand while the sun sank toward the ocean, leaving the sky streaked with lavender and orange. Behind her, a match rasped, then flames crackled as the driftwood ignited. Strong arms wrapped around her. Kate leaned into his embrace, savoring the feeling of his body against hers.

"I missed you, Cameron. It wasn't the same without you around."

"I wasn't gone that long. What did you miss most?"

Greg led her back to the blanket and drew her down next to him. He'd taken off his boots. She kicked off her shoes and gazed into the flames. The fire sent shadows dancing across the sand.

"What did I miss most? Watching you to see what you'll do next." He laughed. "Twelve hundred men on that base and you end up having dinner with Lard. And then you have the brass to tell him to get off our case about regs?"

"I'm not always good at keeping my mouth shut," she said, unable to stop the smile. "The look on Lard's face was worth it though."

Greg shook his head.

"That's just one of the things I like about you."

"That I don't know when to shut up? What else do you like about me?"

He tangled his hand in her hair and kissed her. There was no one watching this time, no one interrupting. Time slowed, measured only by the snap of logs in the fire. Every nerve in Kate's body ignited as Greg pressed her down onto the blanket. His lips grazed her neck to the hollow of her throat, lingered, returned to her mouth. Her mind reeled. He was doing it again, taking her apart, one hot, slow kiss at a time and she never wanted him to stop. He brushed the hair back from her face.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice but a girl never gets tired of hearing it."

He stretched out next to her, propped up on one elbow, the other hand flat on her belly. The heat of his touch was as intoxicating as wine and she knew he wouldn't let her glass go empty.

"I don't know how I've kept my hands off you for this long."

"You haven't exactly."

"Mmmm?" His fingers traced her ribs, ran along the waistband of her shorts then back to her stomach. She struggled to stay focused.

"Mmmmm, the night you rubbed the cramp out of my leg, the afternoon at the beach, Don's party, the morning after Don's party," she paused, swallowed, "oh, God, that night in the jeep . . . and how many times have you kissed me in front of your men?"

"Not nearly enough. You seem to have a problem with it. You need to get over that." He was laughing.

"I'm over it. Trust me." She paused. "And all those times you brushed my butt by accident in the darkroom."

"Sweetheart, those weren't accidents."

He took her mouth, his tongue brushing hers, and she tasted his hunger. He didn't ask, he just took and she was powerless. When he spoke again, his voice was husky.

"I've wanted to make love to you since that night I picked you up out of the mud."

She drank in the angles of his face, remembered how they met, remembered not being prepared for the impact of him in her life. His eyes were drowning pools of blue in the firelight, dragging her under. She didn't resist.

"What took you so long?"

"Nineteen other guys taking bets on who you were going to sleep with, an executive officer who made a specialty of pissing you off, the damned Japanese air force trying to kill me every day and you're asking what took me so long?"

She didn't reply. Greg's hand was sliding under her shirt, warm fingers caressing her belly. She didn't resist when he pulled the T-shirt over her head. She had only a fleeting regret that she hadn't worn nicer lingerie, then abandoned herself to his mouth and hands. Every touch was deliberate, intended to ignite arousal, not simply take his own pleasure, and she was molten against him.

There had been a number of times in Kate's life when reality had fallen far short of fantasy. This wasn't one of them. Every kiss, every touch, delivered on a promise that had been building between them for weeks. She felt her own need echo through him as she ran her hands over his back and hips. She wrapped a leg around him, pulled him closer. The more she gave him, the more he gave back, playing her with a rough sensuality that burned everything else from her mind. She had wanted this night for so long, to give herself to him and let him take as he pleased.

Her fingers worked open the buttons on his shirt, tugged it loose from his trousers. He took it off and pulled her back into his arms. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast, a steady, measured counterpoint to her own racing pulse.

Greg's fingers slid to the waistband of her shorts and unfastened the button. He was easing the zipper down when she caught his hand. He finished drawing the zipper down, rested his hand along the lace edging of her panties.

"I've never . . ." She stopped, suddenly hesitant.

"You've never what?"

"Done this outdoors." It was the truth. She'd never made love outdoors. It seemed a little reckless and given their track record, a lot risky.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, but it's not like we can lock the door." Honestly, she didn't mind sharing most aspects of her life with the Black Sheep but this was not going to be one of them.

"No one is going to interrupt us."

"How do you know?"

"I told Jim and Casey if anyone got in our way tonight, there'd be hell to pay. I'm pretty sure they spread the word."

Kate laughed a little shakily. That explained the boys' studied indifference to their departure.

"So they all know we're out here."

"Sweetheart, they think we've been doing this for the last month. Tonight just makes it official."

Official. That was going to be one word for it.

She kissed him in answer. He rolled her effortlessly onto her back and tugged off her shorts. She trembled at the warmth of his hand on her inner thigh, the blunt strength of his fingers tempered by unexpected gentleness.

She buried her mouth against his neck. Her body mirrored his need, her hunger deepening with every rough kiss, every demanding caress. God, how had she kept her hands off him this long? Muscles tightened under her fingertips as she trailed across his abdomen, slid lower. His breath, so steady until now, quickened as she unbuttoned his trousers and eased the zipper down. He accommodated her as she pulled them off.

"Do you know how many times I've dreamed about this?" Her voice was a whisper against his skin.

"Not nearly as much as I have."

Her mouth teased his, daring him to move, as she slid her hand down to caress him, fingers deliberately light. He shifted, not giving her a choice, pressing his hard shaft into her hand.

"Oh!" She caught her breath with a quiet gasp.

"What's the matter, sweetheart, never touched anything you couldn't see before?"

She smiled against his lips, remembering the first time he'd said that, when the flickers of their friendship were starting to grow. She hesitated, then splayed her hand across the front of his shorts and took her time, alternating caresses and pressure as she worked the length of his erection.

"Yes, but it never felt like this," she whispered.

He groaned, a low sound of pleasure that ricocheted through her, fueling her arousal. She wanted to let him take and keep taking until she had nothing left to give.

He slid the straps of her bra over her shoulders, one-handedly unhooking the clasp to tug the lacy fabric out of the way. As warm air hit bare skin, Kate bit her lip in a moment of self-consciousness at the unaccustomed exposure. Any feeling of shyness vanished when she saw the look of appreciation in his eyes. He cupped her breast and she pressed herself against his hand, shivering at the roughness of his palm.

Greg's mouth followed the line of her throat downward until his tongue circled her nipple, then flicked across it, sending her body into a spasm of pleasure. She cried out when he pulled her gently between his teeth, the building heat threatening to consume her. His mouth owned her, moving from her breasts to the hollow of her throat and along her jaw. His fingers slid between her thighs and eased slowly across the damp silk between her legs. He paused to draw off her panties and she didn't feel exposed this time, trust and need banishing any lingering reserve.

His fingers were light against the hot, slick nuances of her body. Kate abandoned herself to the choreography of firelight and heat against her skin. The climax rose with unexpected ease, burning through her body like a flash fire. His mouth lingered on hers as the pleasure peaked, consuming her in relentless waves. She rose up hard against his hand, head thrown back to let the breeze fling her wordless sobs skyward. His fingers slowed as the last ripples of sensation ebbed and she pressed her face into his shoulder, overwhelmed at the power of her response. As if reading her mind, Greg flattened his hand over her pounding heart.

"I want all of you, Katie. Don't hold back."

"I'm yours," she whispered. "All of me. Always."

She found the buttons on his shorts and worked them loose, pushing fabric out of the way to stroke him. He shoved his shorts off the rest of the way and then it was skin on skin, hunger building toward madness, a mutual need to give and possess in turn. Wordlessly, he pressed her onto her back and entered her, never taking his eyes from hers. She arched up to meet him, her body yielding to his, a soft cry escaping her throat.

"All right?" he whispered. She could feel him holding back, trembling with the effort.

"Yes." Kate shifted under him, letting her body adjust. Then, with more certainty, "Yes." She relaxed as he eased deeper into her. The muscles of his back were tight under her hands, the metal of his dog tags pressed warm against her skin.

Her body played in counterpoint to his, soft curves meeting hard muscle. She answered his demands with her own, obliterating any conscious thought as her body turned to liquid heat under him. She felt their mutual urgency building and shifted the rhythm. He matched her tempo, taking her with slow, almost lazy strokes that incinerated her even as she felt the strength of his body barely held in check.

He buried his mouth against her neck, breathing ragged. She raked her nails down his back, flames of power licking through her, teasing with unbearable promise as he drove her toward oblivion. The sensation grew, possessing her until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. Kate arched up hard under him, taking him as deep as she could, her nails digging into his shoulders. As pleasure pounded relentlessly through her, she felt his release rising until with a rough groan, he gave a final hard thrust and pinned her hips against the blanket. She writhed under him, taking and giving in complete surrender.

The beach disappeared in mist, the fire faded to embers. She was unable to move, captured in the web of heat from his body. Aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her drained and exhilarated. Greg shifted off her and pulled her into his arms.

"God, Katie." He kissed her forehead.

"You told me not to hold back," she whispered.

"You listened to me, for once."

She tangled her fingers in his hair and drew his face to hers. His mouth was gentle now and she was aware of how deliciously bruised her lips felt.

"I missed you, too," she said shakily.

"Was that how this got started?"

She rolled up on an elbow, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"This got started when Meatball knocked me on my backside. "

"I knew I drug that dog all the way back from China for something."

She rested her head on his chest as the breeze licked across her sweaty skin. His heartbeat was steady under her ear.

"You realize most of the men think you're going to be the death of me." His voice was low.

"Nice of them not to be worried about me." She paused. "But I don't think you're in any danger."

"You can tell them that."

"I'm not telling them anything. They spend too much time thinking about us the way it is."

A log shifted in the fire, sending a shower of embers flaring on the breeze. He caught her hand, pressed it against his chest. She curled against him.

"Do you want to go back to the bonfire?" he asked after a few minutes.

"No."

"Do you want to go back to the base?"

"No."

"Are you trying to be difficult or does it come naturally?"

She laughed.

"Can we just stay here? For a while?"

"There's another blanket in the jeep, if you're cold." He started to get up.

"I'm closer, I'll get it." Kate rose. She looked around. The soft glow of the firelight illuminated bits of clothing strewn across the blanket and nearby sand. Picking up the first shirt she saw – his – she pulled it on. She wasn't comfortable enough yet with the whole naked-outdoors concept to think walking around totally bare was a good idea. She wrapped his shirt around her and studied him. He was sprawled on his back, etched in firelight and shadow.

"Greg, what did you do with my panties?"

His answering chuckle was pitched low.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to need them."

 **XXX**

 _We didn't make it back to the bonfire that night. Or the base. Or anywhere else. - KCC_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _(Editor's note: The Dogs for Defense training ground at Cat Island, Miss., was real. Dogs were trained there for use in tropical environments during WWII. The base was later closed and through the following decades, the military's K9 program was centralized at Lackland Air Force Base. If I understand correctly, today, all of the military working dogs used by the United States armed forces are trained there)._

 **XXX**

 _Sometimes you fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time._

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Kate woke, curled against Greg's chest, as the first pink flush of sunrise broke over the horizon. She lay still, not opening her eyes, listening to him breathe and soaking in scent of his body. At some point last night - this morning - they'd fallen asleep, wrapped up in one another. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and kissed him lightly. There was no denying the hot tingle that passed from his body through hers.

"Morning, Cameron." He shifted and returned the kiss at a more advantageous angle.

"Morning, Boyington."

"Find your panties yet?" Under the tangled blanket, his hand slid down to caress her bare hip. The tingle sparked into high voltage.

"No. I didn't look, either."

He pulled her to him and by the time the sun broke completely over the horizon, Kate had lost any inhibition about being bare-assed naked outdoors. There was no morning-after awkwardness as they lingered in the soft dawn light, just a mutual reluctance to leave the solitude of the beach and return to the base. And the war. And the men.

Greg dropped her off at her tent with a scalding kiss and no apologies to anyone awake at that hour to see them. Of course there were men awake. French and Boyle even managed a round of applause as they staggered by, grinning in spite of hangovers.

Enjoying the illusion of privacy in her tent, Kate realized the boys' constant scrutiny of their relationship, which had bothered her to no end even before she knew they had a relationship, had evaporated into a non-issue. Trying to keep anything secret on this base practically guaranteed it would be common knowledge within hours. She decided to embrace the inevitable.

It didn't matter what had happened last night – the boys already thought they were sleeping together. She didn't expect anything would change from that standpoint now that they actually had.

By merit of being part of the squadron, Kate found herself privy to insider information about the boys' nocturnal activities and figured, with a sigh, they probably thought they were just as entitled to hers. She was pretty sure everyone had marked their departure from the bonfire. While what she and Greg had done after they left was no doubt going to be the subject of lengthy discussion by the Black Sheep, Kate privately thought they didn't stand a chance of coming close to the dazzling reality.

" _If we had, you'd remember,"_ Greg had said the morning after Don's party. Oh yeah. She'd remember, all right. It was the last thought on her mind as she sprawled onto her bunk and fell asleep.

 **XXX**

 _Our night together had been like something out of a dream but dreams fade when the sun rises. Being around Greg when we were surrounded by the reality of the war and the men who were our mutual lives, was going to be a challenge. You can't do what we did and then act like everything was business as usual the next morning. He'd be fine but God knew I didn't have a poker face. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Kate woke later that morning to find Meatball licking her nose. Sputtering, she buried her face in her pillow and shoved ineffectively at the dog. He transferred his affections to her ear.

"G'way, Meatball."

"Morning, Cameron. Time to rise and shine." Greg stepped into the tent.

Kate rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. He was grinning at her, arms folded across his chest. His hair looked wonderfully mussed, like she'd just run her fingers through it, and his eyes were that intense blue that spoke volumes.

"Come on. Those carbs won't install themselves."

 _Carburetors? Was he serious?_

She stretched languidly and didn't make any attempt to get up.

"You're hard on a girl."

"Didn't hear you complaining last night."

She rolled onto her side and patted the bunk.

"God, woman, didn't you get enough of me this morning?" He sat, then pinned her on her back and kissed her.

No, she hadn't gotten enough. She was a little shocked at how easily her body responded. There was no element of morning after self-consciousness, just the smoldering memory of what they'd shared and a complete willingness to pick up where they'd left off. He pulled back, holding her with his eyes. She read the mutual trust in them - their time together was for them alone, not to be offered for public consumption, no matter how persistent the boys were.

"Get dressed and meet me on the flight line. I'll be there as soon as I wake up the rest of these meatheads." He kissed her again, then slapped her hip and left, Meatball at his heels.

Kate sat up and shoved her fingers through her hair. Her lips resonated with his parting kiss. The flight line? With all the boys? She sucked in her breath. If she wanted to practice getting her emotions under control, that was as good of a place as any.

 **XXX**

Hutch and Micklin took advantage of the squadron's off-day to do some much needed engine maintenance. At Hutch's request, Greg rousted the Black Sheep to assist with installing the newly acquired carburetors. That had not been an undertaking for the faint of heart. Getting the boys to do anything resembling manual labor was hard enough on a good day and nearly impossible on the day after a party.

The degree of assistance they provided varied with their degree of hangover but Greg assured them sweating the alcohol out of their systems was the best cure. This advice was not generally well received, given that the beach party had rage into the early hours of the morning, with a number of the boys staggering back to the base at sunrise to collapse in their bunks. A lucky few woke up in more comfortable accommodations at the nurse's quarters but were still disinclined to jump headlong into a day's work.

When Greg asked Kate if she would help him on the flight line – more like told her to, she thought - she'd welcomed the chance to do something with him that couldn't possibly have the slightest bit of sexual energy to it. She desperately needed to get her emotional and physical responses to him under control before she had to interact with him in close proximity to the rest of the boys. Spontaneously combusting as the result of a smile during a mission briefing was likely to draw attention.

The boys straggled onto the line, yawning and grumbling. A few of them cast knowing looks her way and winked when they walked past but they were either too hungover to start anything or Greg's presence was keeping them unusually well mannered. Boys would be boys. It was like having 19 brothers – brothers who were a complete pain in the ass and didn't hesitate to ask whatever was on their minds. She knew exactly what would be on their minds today.

Short of digging latrines, helping install new carburetors was probably the least romantic thing Kate could think of doing. Her wrist had healed to the point she could use it again and the work had effectively reduced her to dirt, sweat and sore muscles.

She climbed down the ladder, hands full of wrenches and grease rags, when she realized Greg was leaning against the wing, studying her with a lazy smile. A dimple creased one cheek. Kate felt her belly tumble.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me that way." Kate looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was close by.

"What way?"

"Like you're thinking about . . . " Micklin walked by, smiled at her, glared at Greg, kept going. " . . . last night," she finished.

"I wasn't thinking about last night." He took a step toward her.

"Liar." She backed up.

"I was thinking about this morning. Sunrise is your time of the day. Although you look fine in firelight, too." He took another step closer. She backed up again. "It's too late to start playing hard to get, Cameron."

"Don't you dare touch me. I'm filthy," she protested.

"I don't care."

"I smell like a water buffalo."

"I don't care."

Taking her upper arms, Greg pinned her neatly against the wing and kissed her. One of the men hooted nearby. Kate didn't bother to look.

"I meant what I said last night - you are beautiful," he said quietly, his mouth lingering against hers. She was speechless, caught in the force of his body and the tone of his voice. It was one thing to have him say that when she was wearing nothing more than shadows and firelight. It was another entirely to have him say it when she was a sweat-soaked mess, having just climbed out of a Corsair engine. No man had ever said anything like that to her before. His eyes were dark with the same honest appreciation she'd seen last night. She swallowed a private smile and gave up. He was impossible.

 **XXX**

As she perched atop the ladder, waiting for Greg to come back with a different wrench, Kate overheard TJ grumbling as he and Jim walked by.

"How can he be so damned cheerful today?"

There was no doubt who TJ was talking about.

"If you'd spent all night doing what they did, you'd be cheerful, too," Jim muttered. "I'm surprised either one of them can even walk – "

Kate cleared her throat. She gave him her most innocent smile. Here it comes, she thought.

Jim paused at the foot of her ladder, a smile lighting his face.

"Hello, darlin'. You look remarkably . . ." his eyes played over her filthy countenance. " . . . lovely . . . today. Sleeping in the fresh air seems to agree with you."

"Where I'm sleeping is none of your business."

"I'd guess there wasn't much sleeping involved. I right?"

"None of your business." She kept smiling.

"Aw, come on, Katie, you've got Greg's fingerprints all over you. We'd love to hear about it." Jim was enjoying himself.

"Ladies don't kiss and tell," Kate said.

"That's fine." Jim shrugged. "I know more happened than just kisses."

"Go away."

"Katie, do us a big favor and take it easy on Pappy," TJ said. "You know he's not as young as he used to be and you're, well . . ."

"I'm what?" Kate said, exasperated. "Tell me, does he look any worse for the wear this morning?"

"Does who look any worse for the wear?" Greg appeared around the wing.

"Your pilots are harassing me again," she said. Her inability to keep a smile off her face negated any feigned irritation.

"They're good at that." Greg handed her the wrench. He peeled his T-shirt over his head, used it to wipe the sweat off his face and tossed it over a ladder rung.

"He looks pretty lively to me," TJ said.

"What were you expecting?" Greg glared at him. TJ started to say something and apparently thought better of it, then broke into a grin.

"Um, Greg? What happened to your back?"

Multiple sets of fingernail scratches were visible across his shoulders. She really hadn't meant to do that but, well . . . she bit her lip.

"Collateral damage," Greg muttered.

"I want to know how – " Jim began.

Greg cut him off with a look.

"Really Jim, if you don't know how it works by now, there's no hope for you. Don't the two of you have something else to do?"

Kate worked the wrench he handed her onto the bolt and wondered how in the world she'd been lucky enough to find a man who thought she was beautiful when she was a filthy, stinking mess.

 **XXX**

 _I made it through round one. The boys weren't any worse than they had been for the last month. You'd think they would have figured out by now that neither Greg nor I were going to give them any play-by-play but they seemed to get a great deal of satisfaction from harassing both of us, anyway. Apparently it was the principle of the thing. I wasn't going to get off that easy with Dee. She knew I'd been telling the truth all along and now all it was going to take would be one look at my face and she'd know. And then the questions would start. And telling Dee to keep her nose in her own business wouldn't do a damn bit of good. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava Naval Hospital**

 **1700 hours**

Kate walked into Dee's quarters, thanking God her friend had high enough rank to merit a private room, not the communal dorm shared by many of the nurses.

"You're a mess," Dee said, looking her up and down. "Don't don't touch anything, just go straight to the shower. Then we'll talk."

Kate rolled her eyes as she started peeling off her dirty clothes.

"Nothing to talk about," she said.

As predicted, Dee wasn't about to let her off that easy.

"You're a terrible liar, Kate Cameron. You and Greg finally spent the night together – _really_ spent the night together – of course we're going to talk about it," she said.

Kate lingered in the shower, partly because she was filthy, partly because she wasn't ready to face Dee's interrogation. Her feelings – both emotional and physical – were intensely private. She wasn't sure she was ready to put them on parade, even for the best friend she'd shared everything with over the years.

Eventually, she had to turn off the water. She pulled on clean clothes and emerged from the shower to find Laura had joined Dee. Both girls looked at her expectantly.

"What makes you so sure we . . . _really_ . . . spent the night together this time." Kate picked up the conversation where it had left off. Dee was probably the only person on the whole damned island who believed she and Greg weren't already sleeping together. Even Laura and Ellen had been skeptical of her repeated claims that their physical relationship had not progressed past a certain point. More than once they had announced their conviction that it simply wasn't possible for her to have said no to him for this long.

Dee wasn't easily put off.

"First, Casey told me Greg was pretty explicit about having Jim tell the boys to stay out of your way last night and second, oh my God, Katie, you're glowing. You look like you've been loved long and hard by someone who knew what he was doing."

"Details!" Laura said. "I think you owe me that, beings as you've been borrowing my clothes for the last month."

"No details," Kate said firmly. She fought to keep from smiling. "Because if I tell you anything, Casey will make Dee tell him all of it and the Black Sheep will make Casey tell them and then I have to sit across from Jim and all of them at breakfast and know they know things about me they don't have any business knowing. It's enough they know we slept together. I'm sure they can figure it out from there. They're not exactly choir boys."

Dee opened a beer and handed it to her.

"What? Now you think you can get me drunk and I'll start talking?" Kate grinned, taking a sip. "Try again."

"Don't you think Greg has already told them?" Dee handed a beer to Laura and opened one herself. "Guys talk about that sort of thing. And those guys _really_ talk about that sort of thing."

Kate paused. No, she didn't think he had told them. He hadn't talked about the night after Don's party when she'd fallen asleep in his bed or the time they'd spent together on the overlook. She was sure of it because the boys kept trying to ask sneaky questions to catch them both out. If Greg had already regaled them with the details, they'd leave it alone. More or less. The boys tended to be content once they'd gleaned every possible juicy detail from a situation, then their focus shifted to whoever's tryst presented itself next.

That was one of the things she really liked about Greg. He didn't deny that she had slept in his bed after Don's party or that they'd been making out in the jeep when Casey interrupted them but he hadn't given the men the kind of explicit descriptions they usually shared, either. He might be a rogue and a scoundrel but at least when it came to what happened between the two of them, he respected her privacy.

Damnit. Kate wasn't about to do the very thing she was thankful he hadn't done, but she knew Dee wouldn't drop the subject until she got at least a little satisfaction.

"So? Come on, Katie, we're dying here." Dee looked at her expectantly. "How was it?"

Kate felt heat rising up through her at the thought of his touch.

"Incredible."

Dee brightened.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what else?"

"What else is there?"

" _How_ incredible? God, Kate, you write for a living, you can do better than a one word answer!"

Kate grinned and looked at her friend.

"Mind blowing." She paused, blushing as scenes from their intimacy replayed in her mind's eye. "There. Two words. Is that better?"

"And . . . " Dee's grin made it clear she wasn't going to quit.

Kate gave up.

"I've never felt like that . . . he was . . . oh hell, I'm surprised you didn't hear me all the way back here."

"Thought so." Dee looked smug and Laura sighed happily. Dee studied her, clearly not satisfied yet.

"How many times?"

"Stop it! You're just as nosy as the boys." Kate gathered up her shower things.

"I told you she wouldn't give us the details," Laura said wistfully.

"She doesn't need to give us details," Dee said. "Just look at her. The smile on her face says it all. I bet Greg took you places you hadn't been in a long time."

Kate rolled her eyes. He'd taken her places she'd _never_ been, both physically and emotionally.

Dee changed tracks.

"Please tell me he used a condom."

"Dee! How is that any of your business?"

"I'm a nurse and I'm looking out for my best friend. If he didn't, just tell me and I'll send some back with you for the next time."

"He did. Stop worrying."

"Every time?" Dee's face was a study in professional concern.

"Yes. Every time." It had been a near thing, the first time, but Greg had opened the packet and rolled it on with such a degree of efficiency Kate barely noticed. In hindsight, she could admit she hadn't been in any frame of mind to think about it and was grateful he had the presence of mind to be responsible.

"Good," Dee said, satisfied. "You can make a lot of stuff go away with penicillin but babies aren't on the list."

Kate rolled her eyes again.

"Is that a problem out here?"

"Making stuff go away with penicillin? Or babies? Generally no, to neither one of them. I've never seen any of the Black Sheep come through the hospital for anything like that but I could tell you some stories from the London hospital that would curl your hair. There aren't many prostitutes out here, which helps, and the nurses aren't about to let the guys touch us without protection. Casey said Greg lectured the Black Sheep on conduct becoming gentlemen when he formed the squadron so I expected him to practice what he preached." She paused thoughtfully. "Condoms aren't 100 percent effective, Katie, just remember that."

Kate snorted.

"You're a fine one to talk – you and Casey aren't exactly sitting around holding hands."

"We're careful," Dee said soberly. "Really careful. I don't want to lose my commission."

All three girls considered this. A pregnancy for any of the nurses would mean an automatic discharge and a ticket home. Dee changed directions again.

"Do you love him?"

The uncanny timing of the question caught her off guard. Slowly, Kate lowered her shower bucket and turned to her friend. The question opened a tangle of emotions that had been twisting around the edges of her mind all day long.

"I . . . don't know." Neither of them had said the words last night. She hadn't expected it. In fact, she'd been relieved when he hadn't said it. She thought saying "I love you" after making love was the right thing only if it had been said earlier, in a context away from the bedroom. Otherwise, it was rather obligatory and by extension, meaningless. She'd been in love before, or thought she had. Men had told her they loved her. She'd said it back and thought she meant it, but there'd always been a hollowness to the words when those men inevitably faded from her life.

She looked at Dee.

"I haven't thought about it. Why?"

"Because I think he's already half in love with you, whether he knows it or not."

Kate looked out the window. Her damp hair pressed against the back of her T-shirt, leaving a wet spot on the fabric between her shoulders.

"He didn't say it last night." Her heart was pounding. She really _hadn't_ thought about it. On purpose.

Love made things complicated and a relationship with a fighter pilot in the middle of a war was complicated enough. A tiny little voice in the back of her mind warned, _you tried this once, remember?_ Another little voice countered that it was different this time, the physical consummation of their relationship had only heightened what they shared. They were friends before they became lovers. She'd never had that luxury in her other relationships.

"Oh for the love of Pete – he doesn't have say it. How can you be so dense?" Dee looked vexed. "I've seen how the Black Sheep treat women and trust me, that's _not_ the way he treats you. Those guys and the nurses use each other, it works both ways. But whatever's going on between the two of you is real. You're not just a temporary plaything. He can't stand the press corps and now you're practically walking on water where he's concerned, plus he trusts you enough to send you off to handle the squadron's black market deals. I'm telling you, Katie, the man is falling for you."

"Honestly, I . . ." Kate faltered, "I never thought about it."

"I think it's about time you started. Do you ever _let_ yourself think about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because ever since Andrew Butler, you won't put yourself out there for anyone to love. Your body yes, your heart, no."

"Maybe there's a reason!" Kate snapped. "I'm not in a hurry to have my heart ripped into little pieces again. I thought what I had with Andrew was real and that sure as hell didn't work."

Dee sighed.

"Do you remember your first time?" she asked. "You know, the first time you slept with a man?"

Kate blinked.

"What? Yeah. Sort of. I wasn't really sober. Why in the world are you bringing that up now?"

Dee drew a deep breath.

"Because the first time generally isn't great, is it, for girls, I mean? But that's my point – we both did it again anyway, right? With other guys. We didn't just stop after the first time and say never again. I think that's how falling in love works. Sometimes it hurts and doesn't end the way you want it to but you try again, you don't just stop letting yourself love. And then one day you realize you're in love with the right guy, one who loves you back for all the right reasons. Look at me and Casey."

"But you guys are different, you knew you loved each other before you slept together."

"Yeah," Dee said. "So?"

"Would you have slept with him even if you didn't love him? If it was just a one-night hook up?"

It was Dee's turn to hesitate.

"Yeah. I would have. Life can be short, Katie. Don't deny yourself the chance to be happy. There's no guarantee of tomorrow."

Kate drained her beer. She gathered up her things and walked to the door.

"Thanks for the drink," she called. "I'm going to use the squadron's showers next time. The only thing they ever ask is if I need help washing my back."

 **XXX**

 _I couldn't deny Greg's impact on my life. He had turned a standard correspondent's assignment into something beyond my wildest dreams. What the hell was I thinking, falling in love in the middle of a war? And with a man 13 years my senior, who spent nearly every single day trying not to get killed? Was he the one to drag me out of the wreckage of that awful relationship with Andrew? My mind poked at the swirl of emotions then backed off. Once bitten twice shy and I wasn't in a hurry to go there again. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Greg dropped his pencil onto the desktop and rubbed a hand across his face. He should be thinking about tomorrow's mission. He should be thinking about temporarily reassigning tent-mates, since Bragg and French had decided they were both in love with one of the new nurses and it was obvious that wasn't going to end well.

Instead, he was thinking about Kate's legs. Granted, this wasn't anything new. He'd spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about the girl's legs since the first night she landed here. After last night, it was impossible to get them – and the rest of her – out of his mind. He smiled, imagining the sleek curve of her thighs under his hands. Her mouth. Her eyes. The whisper of her voice.

" _I'm yours. All of me. Always."_

He'd spent time with nurses before. It was never more than a physical release, a brief escape from the war with no expectation of anything beyond the sunrise. Both parties were careful about what they said in the heat of the moment. That was part of the understanding. Midnight promises could get awkward after the sun came up.

 _I'm yours._ Her words drifted through his mind like a breeze.

She was more than a midnight promise. He could see her in his mind's eye, firelight in her hair, her skin glowing with the heat of their loving. He blinked and she reappeared, grease-streaked, trading insults with Jim and TJ, teaching Meatball silly tricks, pounding on her typewriter, face tight with concentration. The sparkling joy of having her in his life was more than a temporary escape. Last night had been just another facet of what they shared together.

 _I'm yours._

She hadn't just meant her body. He'd known it even as he'd taken her, felt her yield to him with a sweet willingness that went beyond any physical need and in the process, heightened the resulting pleasure to a degree that was almost unbearable.

He thought he'd been in love before once or twice. It had never worked out. After a while, he'd quit expecting relationships to be anything more than a good time in the dark. It was just easier that way. Heaven knew he had enough on his plate without adding anymore to it.

 _I'm yours._

He blew out a breath and hauled his thoughts back to matters at hand. If he didn't separate Bragg and French, it would eventually come to blows, although it was a lot easier to think about those two yahoos beating the tar out of each other than trying to get a grip on his feelings about Kate.

"Hey, Pappy."

He looked up to see Jim duck through the door. The grin on his exec's face left no doubt what he was thinking about. Greg abandoned French and Bragg's pending civil war and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"Drink?" He gestured toward the bottle.

"Won't say turn it down." Jim dropped into a chair. He chuckled. "You look pretty good for an old man who didn't get any sleep last night."

"Who says I didn't get any sleep?" Greg poured out a glass and handed it to him. Jim took it, lifted it in a toast.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Jim's grin was smug. "Boyle said he saw you and Katie coming back to base at 0600."

Greg didn't say anything. He sipped his drink and arched his brows.

"There a law against that?"

Jim chuckled.

"She must have been pretty good, to keep you out there all night."

"That's none of your damn business." Greg's tone was mild.

"Never stopped me before. Come on, how sweet was she?"

Greg laughed.

"I'm not telling you anything."

"That never stopped _you_ before, either. A night with a girl as smoking hot as Kate? Since when do you start keeping it all to yourself?"

"Since now."

Jim heard the warning edge in Greg's voice and didn't push it. They drank in companionable silence.

"The two of you were made for each other, you know that? I never stood a chance." Jim sounded resigned. "And now you won't even tell me what I missed."

"One day, Jim, the right woman's gonna get her hands on you and you'll find out there's more to it than telling stories the next day."

Jim snorted.

"I don't see that happening any time soon. I'd rather just take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself."

Greg topped off their drinks. Jim tried another direction.

"You know Casey's gonna ask Dee if Kate told her anything. We're gonna find out details one way or the other." Jim's grin was bold. "You might as well just go ahead and tell me now."

Greg chucked. He didn't really care if the boys knew the details but he wasn't going to be the one to tell them. If Kate told Dee anything, it would eventually make its way along the grapevine. But something told him she wasn't going to post their night on the mission board either.

"Be careful, Gutterman. Somewhere out there, there's a woman with your name on her and once you meet her, your life won't ever be the same."

Jim regarded his CO skeptically and shook his head.

"Be careful, Greg. We're in the middle of a war. This ain't no place to fall in love."

 **XXX**

 _Jim was right about one thing. We were in the middle of a war. Beyond that was a no-man's land where Kate and I had both been before and it hadn't had a happy ending for either of us. Maybe we we'd never been looking for one. Maybe this time, things would be different. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **The next week**

 **2100 hours**

 _Dear Sarah,_

Kate stared at her typewriter. Thoughts were ricocheting through her mind but she had no idea where to start. She tapped the keys idly, pausing to study the shadows cast by her desk lamp onto the paper.

 _I wish we could see each other and talk about everything that is happening in our lives. Have I told you how proud I am of you for joining up? Dogs For Defense will be an even better program with you as part of it. You always had such a gift with our dogs at home._

 _There are so many things I want to tell you about my assignment here . . . and Greg . . . but they are not stories to be committed to paper. We are enjoying each other's . . . company . . . more than ever. He is the most remarkable man I have ever met, on so many different levels. How I wish you could meet him._

 _Dee asked me if I love him. Oh Sarah, love makes everything so complicated. It should be so easy to say you love someone when you're in the middle of a war and there's no guarantee of tomorrow. I mean, why wait? He could go up in that plane tomorrow and never come back. We both know it but we never talk about it. What if I don't get that tomorrow to tell him? But loving someone means letting them take your heart with them wherever they go. Sometimes I think the choice has already been made for me by a Higher Power and who am I to argue?_

 _I wish you could meet all the Black Sheep, too. They are like family now. Well, there are a few of them I would prefer my baby sister never be left alone with but they are generally a great bunch of boys. Oh, there are so many stories I wish I could tell you in person!_

 _Like Papa used to say, if wishes were horses –_

A knock sounded on Kate's tent frame and she turned from her typewriter. Greg walked in, carrying a folded newspaper. She broke into a smile, both at the sight of him and at an excuse to put the letter aside. Her self-censorship was getting the better of her. She thought that was probably for the best.

Her first reason for smiling was much more straightforward. Since the night on the beach, she'd found it impossible to quit smiling any time he was around. And a lot of the time when he wasn't. She couldn't help it. A look, a casual touch in passing, all sent her heart singing. She couldn't remember ever feeling like this about a man before.

The forced intimacy of living with the squadron – sharing meals, showers, briefings, missions and recreation – meant the boys never missed a chance to try teasing details out of her about the night of the bonfire. She'd gotten very good at suggestions regarding what they could do with their insolence.

"Thought you'd want to see this." Greg tossed a copy of Stars and Stripes on her desk and bent to kiss her. She tipped her head up and made the most of it. She would sell her soul for an evening where one of the Sheep or some upper level brass on Espritos wasn't coming up with some new crisis du jour. But until then, a kiss and a nightcap would have to do.

Greg picked up the fifth of Scotch sitting on her desk. She pushed a clean coffee mug and a canteen cup his way. He poured for both of them while Kate looked at the paper. The front page photo showed a slender girl in Army fatigues and a T-shirt kneeling between two Alsatian shepherds.

Kate's smile got even bigger.

"It's my baby sister!"

She scanned the text under the photo, reading aloud, "Army Corporal Sarah Cameron, stationed at Cat Island, Mississippi, poses with Raider and Jack, two of the dogs she has trained in the Army's Dogs for Defense program. The dogs will be among dozens deployed to the South Pacific in the battle against the Japanese. They will be used for sentry or scouting duty on front area bases."

She stopped. Sarah's dogs were coming to help protect the men fighting in this theatre. She was so proud of her. When Kate left for Europe, she wondered if her little sister would find a calling in the war effort beyond working in the airplane plant. It looked like she had.

"She looks like you, Cameron." Greg handed her the coffee mug.

"She kinda does." Kate sipped, studying the black and white photo. "She's taller than me. And she has red hair."

"Who has red hair?" Jim ducked into the tent, followed by Bob Anderson.

"My sister. Come in, make yourself at home. Help yourself if you can find a glass," she added, as Jim eyed the bottle.

"Hey, Katie, hey Pappy. We came to see if we have any of that Australian wine left or maybe some toilet paper we can spare. Guys at the 149 on Rendova have more silk stockings than they need and if we can trade – whoa!"

Jim's gaze fell on the photo. He leaned over her shoulder to read the caption and whistled.

"That your kid sister? Damn, she's a looker, even dressed like that. Bet she cleans up nice."

Anderson pulled the paper out of Kate's hands.

"Hey! I wasn't done with that!" she protested.

He ignored her.

"Yeah, she's your sister, no mistake there. How old is she?" Anderson asked. "Looks like she means business with those dogs."

"Twenty. Stop drooling, what would Ellen say?"

Bob shrugged.

"It doesn't cost anything to look."

Jim took the paper from him.

"Married? Engaged? Got a steady guy?" Jim was too interested for his own good, Kate thought.

"No, no and no. Get over it. She's stationed in the states." _Thank God._

"She bringing the dogs out here?" Jim scanned the rest of the story.

"She's a trainer," Kate said. "I don't know much about the program but I'm sure they don't let the trainers take the dogs to the front areas." As much as she would love to see Sarah again, the last thing she needed was her little sister on the same island with the Black Sheep.

 **XXX**

 _Sarah and I hadn't seen each other much in the last few years. I stayed with her for a brief layover in California on my way from Scotland to the South Pacific but it had only been for a few days and she was working full shifts at the bomber factory, so we hadn't gotten to spend nearly enough time together. It seemed like our lives were going in opposite directions and we struggled to keep in touch. I fell asleep that night dreaming that all the people I loved were safe and in one place after the war – Sarah, Dee . . . and Greg. - KCC_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Out of the blue**

 **Espritos Marcos, Allied Rear Command**

Greg paced Colonel Lard's office. Lard wasn't even there but the very act of walking into his office created immediate irritation. It was just like Lard to summon him to Espritos for a meeting and then make him wait. Greg had already helped himself to the colonel's Scotch. He figured if Lard was going to leave him cooling his heels, he could at least provide a degree of hospitality. The whisky wasn't as good as their inventory on La Cava but under the circumstances it would do. Jim had flown wing for him and in the outer office, Greg could hear him flirting with Lard's new secretary. It sounded they were both enjoying themselves. The same could not be said for him. He refilled his drink.

Lard blustered in, shutting the door behind him.

"Good afternoon, Colonel, nice of you to join me." Greg sketched a salute with his whisky glass and looked pointedly at his watch.

Lard startled, then scowled.

"Help yourself, Boyington. I was in a meeting with General Moore. Sorry to inconvenience you."

"This war inconveniences me. What's so important I had to fly over here to hear it?"

Lard glared at him.

"Your scrambler's still broken and I can't talk about this on an open frequency." He hung his hat carefully on a hook and sat down at his desk. "I'm pulling the 214 off routine patrols in the Slot. Starting tomorrow, the Black Sheep will fly daily bomber escort for the 182nd over New Ireland."

"New Ireland? Isn't that a little out of our range, sir? We'll be floating back on fumes."

"I assume you've heard of auxiliary tanks. Get your mechanics on it. You're going to need them for the foreseeable future."

"Why 214? Why not VMF 819? Bougainville is closer to New Ireland than we are."

"ComSoPac is stepping up pressure on New Ireland and these bomber missions are critical. They anticipate heavy resistance and want the best fighter cover they can get. As much as it pains me to say it, that's the Black Sheep. I can't tell you any more so don't ask."

"What's on New Ireland that's so important?"

"Did you listen to anything I just said? I can't tell you. You don't have security clearance on this one, Boyington. Just get the auxiliary fuel tanks mounted. And get your scrambler on La Cava fixed so I can call you without being on an open channel. Then you won't need to come over here and drink my Scotch."

"With all due respect sir, you'd better stock up on Scotch because that scrambler is in about 100 pieces and no one really knows how they go back together."

Lard glowered. Greg didn't add that Casey could put it back together in an afternoon but the odds of that happening were slim to none. He and all the rest of the Black Sheep liked it better when Lard couldn't call them.

"Anything else you need while I'm here, sir?"

"Yes. How are you getting along with K.C. Cameron?"

Greg was already halfway to the door. He turned back to face Lard and keeping his face carefully neutral, shrugged indifferently.

"Cameron is always in the middle of everything and never stops asking questions. And likes my Scotch a little too much. But I suppose we get along well enough."

He thought about Kate's body, warm and supple under his, her smoke gray eyes smoldering at his touch. Her scent, like the air after a thunderstorm. That undefinable element of her he couldn't get enough of. Yeah. They were getting along just fine.

"He doesn't seem to be at a loss for story ideas," Lard said. "That series about your pilots has been . . ." He stopped, groping for words. " . . . remarkable. I wonder what he'll do next."

"Yes, sir, so do I."

"See to it the man stays sober enough to do his job. I didn't send him over there to spend all his time drinking and I don't have time to babysit him. General Moore said he was on the up and up so I'll have to take his word for it."

"Yes, sir." Greg didn't trust himself to say anything else.

A coy giggle sounded from the outer office, followed by a low, masculine laugh. Lard waved a hand.

"You're dismissed. Get your wingman out of here before he destroys my secretary. The girl is fresh from the States. She hasn't built up any immunity to your boys yet."

 **XXX**

 _I had no idea what Lard was sending the Black Sheep into and I wasn't crazy about the fact he wouldn't give me clearance on it. I guess he figured we'd find out what was going on soon enough. The only good thing was that it seemed to have taken his mind off Kate. - GB_

 **XXX**

Lard sat, staring at the closed door. The man was incorrigible. Embedding a journalist with the 214 had seemed like such a brilliant idea when he arranged it. Now, he thought with a sigh, it hadn't done a damn bit of good when it came to getting the Black Sheep to tow the line. Boyington and his merry pirate band were as irreputable as ever.

Cameron played them up like damned heroes and totally ignored all their regulation-defying behavior. About the only thing Lard had accomplished was finding a way to give the squadron a lot of press that played well in the States. The only thing keeping him from yanking that correspondent out of the 214 was the fact that by association, Cameron was making him look good as well. If things weren't any better, at least they weren't any worse, either.

Lard lifted the current issue of Stars and Strips off the stack of papers his secretary had delivered earlier. The article on the front page was about dogs being used for sentry and scouting duty in the South Pacific. A photo showed a pretty, serious looking young woman kneeling with her arms around two large, serious looking dogs.

"Hmph," he snorted. They were letting women train dogs for combat now. What would they come up with next? The girl in the photo looked oddly familiar. He swore he'd seen her somewhere before but he couldn't say where. He scanned the story.

"Corporal Sarah Cameron, one of the K9 handlers at the Cat Island training grounds in Mississippi, is the sister of noted Associate Press war correspondent K.C. Cameron, who is currently covering the war in the South Pacific. When asked about her choice to enlist, Cpl. Cameron stated, 'K.C. and I both feel fortunate we've been given the opportunity to serve our country in very different ways while doing things we love.' "

"Hmph," Lard snorted again. The only thing Cameron seemed to be doing was giving him a headache, although judging from Boyington's response just now, maybe he was giving him a headache, too. Well, then. Maybe stationing Cameron on La Cava hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

He scratched his head. He still couldn't figure out why the girl in the picture looked so familiar.

 **XXX**

Once they were in the air, Greg keyed his mike.

"Hey Jim, what's her name?"

"Whose name?"

"Who do you think - Lard's new secretary."

"Maggie. Why you askin'?"

"Just curious. Looked like the two of you were getting friendly."

"We could get a lot friendlier if she wasn't working six feet from Lard's door."

"Thought you were keeping company with that brunette from the hospital, what's her name, Julie, Jenny – "

"Jeannie." Jim snorted. "Oh yeah. I was keeping company with her all right, me and half the other guys, as it turned out. That's over."

Greg made a noncommittal noise.

"Never understood what you saw in that one. She was a little wild."

"She said yes. To anything." Jim sounded regretful at the loss of Jeannie's affections. "Gonna be hard to find another girl with that skill set."

"Maybe it's time to stiffen your criteria, look for some different qualities in a girl."

"Stiff criteria ain't the problem." Jim laughed. "I guess Katie's out of the picture. I gave her plenty of opportunity and she still chose you." Another chuckle.

"She's got a sister, you know."

"Back in the States. Lotta good that'll do me."

It was Greg's turn to laugh.

"Lotta good it would do you even if she turned up out here. Kate would have your balls if you tried anything with her sister."

"A guy can dream though. Sarah's one pretty little girl."

 **XXX**

 _Jim told me a war was no place to fall in love. Maybe he was right. But there's no better place to enjoy the company of a member of the opposite sex, either. War heightens the impact of any relationship, even before it becomes physical, and when you're in a front area, love isn't a prerequisite. The boys were either chasing the nurses or being chased by the nurses. It gave us all something else to think about, besides the fact Tojo was trying to kill us. I couldn't help teasing Jim about Kate's little sister. What were the odds they'd ever meet? And it took my mind off when Kate and I would be able to spend time together again. - GB_

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava**

 **VMF 214 HQ**

Kate had gotten in the habit of going to meet the transports with the other Black Sheep out of idle curiosity. From mail to canned peaches to replacement parts and personnel, there was no telling who or what might arrive on any given day.

On that particular afternoon, she'd been waiting for the expected transport and shooting the breeze with Hutch and Micklin when Greg radioed on his way back from Espritos to have them start mounting the auxiliary fuel tanks. Now, from her seat in a jeep, she watched as he and Jim landed amidst sprays of muddy water, their Corsairs bouncing to an eventual stop before spinning into place on the flight line.

Just watching the planes land these days had become its own form of white-knuckle entertainment. The airstrip was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The lack of maintenance created an ever-growing network of craters that made take-offs and landings nearly as dangerous as flying the missions. The Black Sheep viewed it as a challenge to their skills but the transport pilots were not nearly as amused. There was no telling what rules of physics a plane might break before it finally set down safely.

"What's up with the auxiliary tanks?" Kate asked as Greg and Jim approached. She could feel the tension radiating off both of them. Whatever Lard had up his sleeve, apparently it wasn't good. Meatball jumped around and acted the idiot. Greg scratched him on the head.

"We're flying long-range missions starting tomorrow and he wouldn't spill anymore," he said. "Maybe I should send you over there and see if you can get it out of him. He seemed to like talking to you."

"Not on your life," Kate muttered. "He thinks Lieutenant Halvorson is too nosy for her own good. Here comes the transport."

The C-47 went through some acrobatics before it managed to set down in one piece and the pilot staggered out, looking pale. Corpsmen unloaded the usual assortment of mailbags and crated supplies. Kate wasn't paying much attention. In spite of the Black Sheep's skill, she wondered how long it was going to be before one of them dropped their landing gear into a crater, either coming or going, and sent their plane cart-wheeling. Greg had petitioned Colonel Lard for a Seabee company to make repairs but so far it had come to nothing. Kate's mind was jumping between the pending disaster of the Swiss cheese airstrip and how long it would take to process the film she'd shot that day when a low whistle interrupted her thoughts.

"Will you look at that?" Jim said. The tone of his voice snapped Kate back to the moment. She looked up to see a girl dressed in Army fatigues step out of the transport and pause on the top step. She was bare headed, her auburn hair glinting in the sunshine, as she hiked a large duffel over her shoulder. Her other hand held the leash of the Alsatian shepherd standing quietly at her side.

She was tall and the unflattering cut of the fatigues did nothing to camouflage her curves. She scanned the waiting personnel, frowning slightly. Then she saw Kate and broke into a smile that lit up her face. Even at a distance, the similarities were obvious. There was a collective intake of breath by Jim and several other boys lounging against the jeep.

Kate gasped in recognition. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. No, it couldn't be. Not here. Not in a million years.

"Katie, bar the door!" Jim said. "Is that your – ?"

"Sarah? Sarah!"

"Kate!"

Kate vaulted out of the jeep. She sprinted across the muddy airstrip as the girl flew down the steps, the dog bounding by her side. Sarah dropped her gear and Kate threw her arms around her in a bear hug. They spun, neither wanting to end the embrace, both of them talking at once.

"What are you - ?"

"How did you - ?"

"No, really, why - ?"

Kate finally managed to grip Sarah's shoulders and shove her back at arm's length.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Why? Would you have dressed for the occasion?" Sarah scanned Kate's muddy boots, shorts and T-shirt with obvious skepticism. "Is this what famous correspondents are wearing these days? You always used to dress to the nines."

"Things change." Kate was overwhelmed by her sister's presence. Leave it to Sarah to walk off a plane and start teasing her about her clothes. It was like they'd just seen each other yesterday, not months ago. "Seriously, what are you doing out here? I saw the article in Stars and Stripes, about dogs coming to the South Pacific but I never thought . . . " She trailed off.

"It's a long story," Sarah said. "I wanted to let you know but there wasn't time. The last 72 hours have been a whirlwind."

Kate's eyes dropped to the dog and she held out her hand for the animal to sniff.

"Who's this? He's gorgeous."

The dog regarded her with intelligent, dark eyes.

"This is Raider. He's why I'm here. Um . . ." Sarah focused beyond Kate's shoulder. "It looks like I get to meet your Black Sheep after all." She took a deep breath and grinned. "How do you get anything done besides staying one step ahead of them?"

Kate turned to see half a dozen men ambling across the muddy expanse of ground, curiosity evident on their faces.

"It's not easy," she muttered. She recognized their air of studied nonchalance from watching them meet new nurses and swore she could smell testosterone. She had about five seconds before Sarah turned into the newest piece of fresh meat to land on La Cava in weeks. She kept it simple.

"Guys, this is my little sister. I have no idea what she's doing out here but if any of you get out of line with her, I will hurt you." There was a ripple of laughter, although several of the men shifted nervously and Kate knew they believed her. "Sarah, meet the Black Sheep."

Greg stepped forward and held out his hand. He turned the full effect of his smile on Sarah. Kate knew he was doing it on purpose.

"Major Greg Boyington, welcome to VMF 214."

Sarah's green-gray eyes went wide as she shook his hand. Her gaze up and down his body was quick but not necessarily subtle. She looked at Kate.

"This is . . .?"

"Uh-huh."

"Dear God. I see what you mean," Sarah said, then clamped a hand over her mouth, color rising in her cheeks as the squadron erupted in laughter.

Greg turned his head slowly toward Kate.

"What exactly have you told her, sweetheart?" He tried to sound stern but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Just the truth, darling," Kate said politely, which elicited another round of laughter. It was almost too much. Sarah. Here on La Cava. Being able to laugh and tease and share her life with her sister again.

Jim stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Jim Gutterman, executive officer of this here outfit. Your dog ain't gonna bite me, is he?"

Sarah looked at him.

"Katie's told me about you, too," she said levelly. "So I'd say there's a fair chance."

The men whooped.

"Why don't you come have a drink with me and get your facts first-hand?" Jim countered, undaunted.

Kate stepped up and jabbed him in the chest with an index finger. Sarah was entirely too young and too innocent to be subjected to the unit's biggest skirt chaser. One of the unit's biggest skirt chasers. Oh, hell, they were _all_ skirt chasers.

"She's my little sister, Gutterman. Don't get any ideas."

Jim held up his hands, still grinning.

"I'm just offering the lady a drink. Maybe she'll be more appreciative of my finer qualities than you were."

Sarah watched the exchange with interest. So did Raider.

"Not if she has any sense," Kate muttered.

"How long you here for, darlin'?" Jim turned his attention back to Sarah.

"I'm not sure. Everything happened so fast. I'm not really supposed to be _here_." She shrugged. "But no one seems to know where I _am_ supposed to be, so I figured this is as good a place as any. That's the Army for you."

Meatball had been eying the shepherd and was slowly creeping closer. Raider curled one lip to display a gleaming canine tooth. Meatball stopped and sat down. The shepherd dropped his lip, having made his point.

The rest of the boys approached, eyeing Raider cautiously, and Kate introduced them one at a time. She noticed they were all at their charming best, which didn't surprise her one bit. Greg told Casey to find a spare cot and take it to her tent and Jim tossed Sarah's bag into the jeep.

"Come on," Kate gestured as she got behind the wheel. "You're bunking with me, no matter what other offers you get." She looked at Jim who was studying Sarah, a lazy half-smile on his face. Kate noticed Sarah was returning the smile. She forced herself to keep quiet. Sarah might be young and innocent but she was a grown-ass woman and Kate didn't intend to fight her battles for her. Ian and Joyce Cameron hadn't raised their girls to be pushovers. Sarah climbed into the jeep's passenger seat and Raider leaped into the back. TJ held onto Meatball's collar to keep him from jumping in, too. Discretion was the better part of valor.

"Bring your little sister to the Sheep Pen once she's settled," Jim called to them. "We'll give her a Black Sheep welcome."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Kate muttered and put the jeep in gear.

 **XXX**

 _Sarah was here! Part of me was over the moon at seeing her again. Part of me wanted to shove her back on that transport and get her out of here before something happened. The war was only one part of my worries. One tall, smart-ass Texan was the rest of them. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Sarah stepped into Kate's tent and looked around. It was in its normal state of disarray, a jumbled combination of crated black market goods and a newspaper field office with a laundry line strung across the back and a cot stuffed like an afterthought into one corner.

"Home sweet home," Kate said. "Put your gear wherever you can find room. I think Casey's bringing a spare bunk. If not, you can take mine. I'll sleep on the floor."

"This is . . . rustic," Sarah mused.

"It keeps the rain off my head. Don't tell me they don't have tents in the Army."

Sarah shook her head in negation.

"Barracks. It's all barracks on Cat Island."

Kate sat on the edge of her bunk.

"What are you doing here?" She was still struggling with the logistics that brought her sister thousands of miles from the States.

Sarah sat down on Kate's desk chair and continued to study the cheerful mayhem of the tent. She looked a little overwhelmed. The dog lay quietly by her feet.

"So what's going on?" Kate persisted. "No one ends up on La Cava by accident."

"You know how they say truth is stranger than fiction?" Sarah began. "That kinda sums it up."

Kate's expression indicated she should continue.

"A new class of dogs was ready to ship out from Cat, mostly sentry dogs for front area bases but a couple of scout dogs, too, like Raider." Sarah's tone indicated she had trouble believing the story even as she told it. The dog looked up at his name and thumped his tail. "The new dogs usually go with a master sergeant who is responsible for transporting them if they're not shipping out directly with a handler. Some of the teams were being deployed for the first time so that wasn't a problem – dogs and handlers went to together. Four others were new dogs, going to personnel already on Munda and Rendova. Raider is one of them. Master Sergeant Burgin - that's our head trainer – was going to deliver them and train the new handlers.

"The night before they were due to leave, he had a heart attack. He'll be okay but no travel clearance for six weeks. They needed someone who knew what they were doing to ferry the dogs out here and they needed someone fast, so I volunteered. You know me, Katie, fools rush in . . ." Sarah stopped.

Kate nodded. She and Sarah had some infamous close calls as youngsters when impulse had trumped good sense. She supposed some things never changed. Fools rush in . . . wasn't that how she ended up out here, too?

"They really need these dogs out here and they couldn't send them with just anyone. It had to be someone familiar with the program and I've been on board with it since it began. Everything went great at first. It was supposed to be two stops, deliver the dogs, then head back to Pearl and the States. Nix and Blast were sentry dogs who went to infantry units on Munda. Strike was another scout dog. I dropped him at Rendova.

"Raider was supposed to stay on Rendova, too, but his handler got shot when his patrol was ambushed two days before I got there and he's been moved to a hospital ship before being sent home. They didn't know what to do with Raider, since there wasn't a handler there for him. They sent me back to the Navy base on Espritos to wait while they figure it all out." Sarah scratched the dog's ears. "This afternoon, I found out there was a transport coming here and . . . um . . . talked my way onto it."

Kate looked at her in disbelief.

"Don't tell me you're AWOL!"

"No!" Sarah looked horrified at the idea. "I'm not AWOL. The Army knows where I am."

"You ladies ordered a roll-away?" TJ called. He and Bob Anderson appeared in the doorway, carrying a bunk.

"Where are we supposed to put this? There's no room in here, Kate, with your desk and the whisky and, well – " TJ waved at the bras and panties strung on the laundry line. " – and all that," he finished. "You know, Sarah, there's more room in my tent if you'd rather – "

"She wouldn't," Kate said firmly. "You can put it right there. There's room next to those crates." She looked at her sister. "I hope you don't mind cuddling up next to a couple of cases of Scotch."

"She could cuddle up to – " TJ started.

"Out!" Kate pointed at the door.

"You'll come have a welcome drink with us, won't you?" TJ persisted. "If you came with me now, I could give you the sunset tour of the island."

"Out." Kate repeated.

"Have you ever seen a South Pacific sunset? There's nothing like it."

"Out!"

"You're starting to sound like Greg, you know that?" TJ said.

Kate glared at him, struggling to keep a smile off her face.

"Get out of here. We'll see you guys in a little bit," she said.

"Are they always like that?" Sarah asked when they left. "TJ's kind of cute. So is Jim."

"Yeah, if you like tall, dark and trouble. No, they aren't always like that," Kate answered. "Usually they're worse. And do not let any of them know you think they're cute, especially those two."

Sarah looked at the scattering of loose photos on Kate's desk. Anderson had borrowed her camera while she was out of commission with her sprained wrist and she'd printed some of his negatives that morning.

"Nice," Sarah said, thumbing through them. She held up a shot of Kate with the Black Sheep, standing in front of a plane, arms around each other's shoulders. Another of Kate and Meatball in a jeep. Casey in the radio shack. Greg, Jim and TJ playing poker, crowned with wreaths of cigar smoke.

"Ooooooh," Sarah said, raising her eyebrows at the next photo. "This one is great. He is such a handsome man, Katie. The two of you look like you were made for each other."

Kate knew without looking which photo she meant. She hadn't known Anderson was anywhere nearby when he took it. He'd caught them with their faces inches apart, eyes locked on each other, raw emotion speaking volumes. Just the sight of it made a flush of heat run through her. Anderson had been a bit of a voyeur. The next few frames had been of them kissing. She hadn't printed those negatives although she had to admit Bob had done a good job of tastefully framing the shots.

"Welcome to my world," she said, grinning at her sister. "Come on, let's go have that drink."

 **XXX**

Kate paused on the steps to the Sheep Pen and turned to Sarah.

"Do not, under any circumstances, leave here with any of these boys tonight," she warned. "No matter what they promise and especially if they offer to show you the beach by moonlight. Or anything else."

"I bet you've seen a few things by moonlight," Sarah teased.

"Yes." Kate didn't try to hide her smile. Then she added with what she hoped sounded like big sister authority, "But it wasn't on my first night here."

She held the door open and the two girls were greeted with cheerful shouts of "Hey, Katie!" and "Sarah, welcome!" Kate had a moment of déjà vu, flashing back to her first night on La Cava. Greg was leaning on the bar, Jim next to him. Both men lifted glasses in acknowledgement as the girls made their way toward them. Raider trotted confidently at Sarah's side, head up, tail swishing. The men gave him a respectful berth.

Kate relaxed a little. She knew Sarah was a grown woman and member of the U.S. Army to boot but she was still her little sister. The deep-rooted sense of responsibility she felt for her started when their parents died while Sarah was still in high school. It hadn't lessened even though they were both adults. It was a relief to see the 65 pounds of teeth and muscle that clung to her like a second shadow. Kate wasn't sure what level of training the dog had but his looks would be a deterrent for most of the shenanigans the men might have in mind. Kate felt completely at home among the Black Sheep but where her little sister was involved, they were still the Black Sheep.

"So what does this here dog of yours do?" Jim asked.

"He's a scout," Sarah said. "He's trained to accompany patrols and indicate unfriendlies without giving away his handler's position. He won't sound an alarm or attack like a sentry dog."

"Good to know," Jim said, taking a step closer.

"Unless I tell him to."

"Duly noted." Jim took a step back. He looked at Raider doubtfully. The dog glared at him. Kate turned to hide her smile.

The gathering did not have the proportions of Kate's welcome party but the alcohol was plentiful and the boys wasted no time asking Sarah to dance. Raider lay under the table, watching quietly as one after another led her onto the floor.

Sarah was catching her breath between numbers when Jim set drinks on the table in front of both girls. Looking at Kate, he said, "Good faith offering? I promise to behave around your little sister." Kate lifted the glass and sipped. The whisky burned a smoky trail down her throat.

"All right. Don't make me regret it," she said. She doubted her definition of behaving matched Jim's.

Turning to Sarah, he held out his hand.

"Come dance with me."

"I meant it when I said Kate warned me about you," Sarah said, but she was smiling.

"Your sister and I go way back. We get along just fine now but she might be a little prejudiced."

"Lucky for you, I'm not." With a bold grin at Kate, Sarah took his hand. Kate took a deep breath and forced herself to count to 10.

 **XXX**

 _I trusted Jim. Mostly, I trusted him to make a pass at Sarah, but I'd lived with the Black Sheep long enough now to know they respected me. More or less. If Jim got out of line, he'd have to answer to both me and Greg. I figured that should be enough to put the fear of God into anyone. - KCC_

 **XXX**

"They seem to be hitting it off," Greg said as Sarah and Jim melted into the crush of couples on the dance floor. He couldn't help teasing Kate. He figured she would have warned her sister about the Black Sheep in general and Jim in particular.

Kate took a generous sip of whiskey and coughed.

"Sarah can handle herself," she choked.

"Jim has no idea what he's up against," he said agreeably. "Dance with me?" Lowering his voice, he added, "I'll take your mind off Jim's intentions for your sister."

"He'd better not have any intentions if he knows what's good for him," she hissed but let him pull her into his arms. She was feather light as he rested his hand at her waist. He thought about the first night he'd danced with her, so sure then that she was nothing more than an attractive nuisance. Tonight, he could barely remember what his life had been like before she walked off that transport right into the middle of it. She was even more attractive now than she'd been then and the temporary nuisance status had grown into something . . . well . . . something he was still struggling to wrap his mind around.

"You're smiling. What are you thinking about?" Kate asked.

"The first night I met you."

She tipped her head back, laughing softly as they moved to the music.

"Lord, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into."

"I knew you were going to be trouble from the start."

"Really? How much trouble could one journalist be?" She laid a hand briefly against his cheek, slender fingers warm, before dropping back to his shoulder.

"You have no idea."

She'd changed into a sleeveless work shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. He ran his index finger from her ear down to the hollow of her throat. Her breath caught, a quick gasp of pleasure at his touch and he watched a spark ignite in those gray eyes. He slid his hand to her waist, then the small of her back, pressing her closer. Her body responded to his, but he could see she was fighting it.

"Stop it," she whispered. They were on the edge of the crowd of dancers, not in the thick of it but not alone either.

"Stop what?" He slid his hand lower, grazed her hip.

" _That_. Stop. That."

He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist, then her palm, let his lips brush her fingers. She quivered in response, her body vibrating on a low frequency. The look she gave him was molten.

"I suppose you want me to stop that, too."

"Damnit." There was heat in her voice but no anger. The color was high in her cheeks.

"I can't get enough of you, Kate." His voice was for her ears only. The music wrapped around them, isolating them from the other couples on the floor.

"I remember you having quite a lot of me on the beach."

"That went both ways. We could go there again, it's a lovely evening."

"Don't tease me," she whispered. "You're starting something you can't finish. I'm not leaving Sarah alone tonight."

This fierce protectiveness regarding her sister was a side of her he'd never seen before. It matched the intensity with which she did everything else – working, playing, loving. He wondered what other facets of her life he hadn't seen yet.

"As I remember, you were alone your first night here."

"And look what happened." He could tell she was struggling to suppress a smile.

He lowered his lips to her ear.

"There will be a next time, sweetheart. Until then . . ." He took her mouth in a slow kiss and felt her unhesitating willingness echo through his body, heightening his own need. Reluctantly, he broke off the embrace. God help him, he had to walk away from this, too.

He enjoyed watching her face as she struggled to master her composure, arousal and annoyance battling in her eyes. She was incredible.

Jim paused next to them, Sarah in his arms and a knowing look on his face as he looked at Kate.

"Hey, darlin', Little Red here could sleep in my tent if you and Greg need some privacy – " he began.

"Shut up, Gutterman," Kate managed. "You're supposed to be behaving yourself, remember?"

 **XXX**

 _Kate's little sister dropped onto La Cava out of the clear blue sky and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see those girls were cut from the same cloth. I didn't know how long she'd be staying but you'd have had to be blind not to see the mutual attraction between her and Jim. I knew Kate saw it, too. I had no idea where any of this was going. - GB_

 **XXX**

It was near midnight when Greg called an end to the party, citing an early morning mission. He and Jim escorted the girls back to Kate's tent. Jim bid Sarah a plutonic good night and Kate gave Greg a chaste peck on the cheek. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard, then winked and said, "See you ladies in the morning. Sweet dreams, Cameron."

Sarah made sure Raider had a bowl of fresh water, then collapsed onto her bunk. She was snoring within seconds.

"Lightweight," Kate muttered affectionately. "You never could hold your alcohol."

She untied and pulled off her sister's boots under the shepherd's watchful eye. The dog scratched a blanket into a nest on the floor beside his handler, turned three times and lay down.

Kate turned out the light. She pulled on her nightshirt, crawled into her own bunk and lay staring at the shadowy canvas overhead. She could still feel Greg's lips on hers, the heat of his touch. Damn the man. She hoped he couldn't sleep either.

 **XXX**

 _The night Greg and I spent together ignited more than physical pleasure. The need to take and be taken still lingered, overlaid by a deeper feeling of connection than I'd ever felt for a man before. In the meantime, working side-by-side with him every day was a constant slow burn. And on top of it all, now Sarah had shown up in the middle of everything. Like I didn't have enough on my mind. - KCC_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Best two out of three**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Early morning sunlight streamed into the tent as Kate woke to Sarah's groans.

"Welcome to your first Black Sheep hangover," Kate said, yawning.

"And my last, I swear. Oh. God. My head." Sarah moaned. "Why did you let me drink that much?" Raider rolled onto his back by her cot and stuck his feet in the air. Sarah rubbed his belly without opening her eyes.

"I remember suggesting several times that you might want to step away from the bar." Kate tried to keep the I-told-you-so tone out of her voice. She knew exactly how her sister felt. It was a lesson she was going to have to learn for herself.

"I tried. But they just kept buying me drinks. And they were so sweet, especially Jim. I couldn't refuse." Sarah rolled onto her back and put the pillow over her head. "Do they do that all the time?"

"What? Drink like that? Yeah. Hit on the new girl? Yeah. Throw parties? No, only on special occasions." Kate fixed her with a pointed look. "And if you stay here very long you'll get a lot better at saying no because you're gonna get a lot of practice at it."

Sarah lifted the pillow.

"What was special about last night?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're the new girl. _And_ you're my sister. Added bonus." Kate threw her legs over the edge of her bunk and stretched.

"Was that what your first night here was like?" Sarah's voice was muffled. She'd put the pillow back over her face.

"My first night here ended with a brawl, Marine Corps versus the Navy, which, if you ask Greg, I started. If you ask me, he started it. And he didn't want me here at all."

"He sure wants you here now." Sarah sighed dramatically. "If a man looked at me that way, I would just melt in his arms."

"It's taken us awhile to get to that point." Kate said drily. She gave her sister a sideways look. "I think you know it's gone way beyond dancing with each other."

"I'm not 10 years old, Katie." Sarah sounded affronted. "I know what men and women do behind closed doors. Mama told me."

Kate didn't see any point in explaining that nothing she and Greg had done had involved doors of any kind.

"Yeah. Mama told me, too. Trust me, she left a few things out."

"Well, I'd figured it out anyway, by the way he kissed you. And Jim kinda told me."

"Oh he did? And just what did he tell you?"

Still flat on her back, Sarah hugged the pillow to her stomach. She turned her head. Her eyes were widely innocent but Kate didn't believe her for a minute.

"I wasn't watching on purpose, honest, but when the two of you kissed each other, it was like nothing else existed. And nothing in the world could ever keep you apart." Getting only a snort in response, Sarah kept going. "Jim said he figures the two of you are perfect for each other because you're the two most bullheaded people he's ever met. And he figures if you don't kill Greg in bed, the two of you might just have something."

"Thirteen years! He's only 13 years older than me!" Kate said, exasperated, but there was no heat in her tone. "Those boys are all your age – 20 or 21. They think 35 means you can't – "

She stopped. What she and Greg did together was absolutely none of Sarah's business.

"Can't what?" Sarah said. "Sounds like he can. Wanna tell me about it?"

Kate just smiled.

"No. I'm not telling you anything. I think I liked you better when you were in the States and couldn't meddle in my business." She paused. "And sweet is not the first word I would use to describe Jim Gutterman."

"Why not?"

Kate opened her mouth and discovered there weren't any words in it.

"Because he's not your type," she said lamely. How in the world was she supposed to explain a guy like Jim?

Raider stood and started poking Sarah's arm. She reluctantly hauled herself upright. "All right, dog, all right. Did I fall asleep in my clothes?"

Kate laughed.

"Yeah, family trait."

Sarah looked at her, puzzled.

"How is that a family trait?"

"I'll tell you sometime. Just trust me. I pulled off your boots after – "

Raider spun around and froze, facing the tent door, ears up. Sarah recognized the dog's indication and immediately followed his gaze.

Jim knocked on the tent frame and ducked inside.

"Good mornin', ladies! Whoa – "

Raider stepped in front of Sarah, body rigid and teeth barred in a silent snarl. Sarah looked at Kate, who had started to unbutton her shirt.

"I didn't know this suite came with a wake up service," she said. "How nice."

"It's very unreliable." Kate pulled her shirt back together. "Gutterman, what are you doing?" Sarah said something quietly to Raider and the dog relaxed fractionally.

"I see your dog hasn't had his breakfast yet," Jim said, backing up. "I'm not looking to be on his menu, just stopped to check on you, Little Red. How you feelin' this morning?"

"I wish you'd have thought of that last night when you were feeding me drinks." Sarah rubbed her temples.

"I didn't realize you don't have your sister's unnatural capacity for alcohol." Jim slanted a look at Kate.

"We're sisters, not twins," Sarah said.

"That God for that." He muttered something that sounded like, "One of you is enough."

Kate pointed at the door.

"Out."

"See you ladies later." Jim sketched a mock salute and left.

"See? He stopped to check on me. He's sweet." Sarah rose and pulled a clean shirt out of her duffel. She looked at Kate dubiously. "But do the guys just walk into your tent like that all the time?"

"We don't really stand on formality out here. And privacy is overrated with the Black Sheep. You get used to it after a while. And you never do anything in here you don't want interrupted. _And_ you learn to change clothes really fast," Kate said. "Come on, you look like some coffee would do you good. We need to be on the flight line at 0700." Kate pulled off her sleep shirt and changed into a T-shirt and trousers.

"Is that going to be loud?" Sarah lay back down and clutched her head. "That sounds like it's going to be loud."

"Oh yeah," Kate grinned. "It's gonna be loud."

 **XXX**

Breakfast was the typical Black Sheep affair of bad food, hung-over pilots and off-color humor.

"This makes Army food look gourmet," Sarah observed, poking at the powdered eggs.

"But the company is spectacular." Jim shoved his way between her and Kate, set down his tray and slung an arm around each of their shoulders. "Good mornin' again, ladies."

"Get your hands off me, Gutterman," Kate said amiably.

"He hears that all the time," TJ said to Sarah from across the table. "Your sister kind of made it her personal motto for a while."

"Don't know what you're missin'," Jim said to Kate with a friendly leer.

"I'll take my chances. Where's Greg? I want to file a harassment complaint."

"The two of you need to spend another night together," Jim said. "You're kind of growly when you're not getting any - ."

"Jim! Shut up!" Kate felt color rising in her cheeks and avoided looking at Sarah.

"Tell me more about that," her sister said. "I can't get her to fill me in on the details."

"For the love of God, don't encourage him." Kate brandished her coffee mug in Jim's direction and glared at him. "If you can't keep your mouth shut, I'll shut it for you."

"Cameron, are you threatening my pilots again?" Greg sat down on her other side, stroking his hand across her shoulder blades in one of those quick, subtle touches whose impact lingered long after he was gone. Kate felt heat sparkle through her, the latent promise of his hands taking her mind off Jim's insolence.

"No, really, Jim, what were you going to say?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing you need to hear," Kate said with finality.

Jim chuckled.

"How long you staying with us, Red? I can see having both of you on the same island is going to be all kinds of trouble."

 **XXX**

 _I could tell from the look in Jim's eye that he was probably going to be the source of most of that trouble. And he was prepared to enjoy it. I liked Jim, I really did. Once we got past the initial awkwardness of him trying to get me in bed, I appreciated his friendship and the vital part he played in helping Greg hold the squadron together. But that didn't mean I'd go as far as thinking he and Sarah were a good idea. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Out of deference to Raider, Kate decided they would watch the squadron take off from a point near the end of the airstrip. Sarah assured her the dog was bomb proof when it came to loud noises but agreed there was no sense subjecting him to the collective roar of the Corsairs' engines on the flight line.

Kate got in the driver's seat of the jeep, Sarah got in the passenger seat and Raider got in the back. Determined not to be left behind this time, Meatball leaped up and landed on Sarah's lap. Raider stuck his head between the seats and curled his lip.

"Get over yourself," Sarah admonished him. "This funny looking dog is no threat to anybody."

Raider looked skeptical but put his lip down. Meatball wagged his tail hopefully. The Alsatian ignored him.

"Where did this dog come from, anyway?" Sarah asked, shifting the bull terrier on her lap as Kate put the jeep in gear.

"Greg brought him back from China. Allegedly, he's General Moore's dog but it's one of those things that when you start asking questions, someone always changes the subject." She reached over and rubbed Meatball's head. "I spent the night with him once. Meatball, not General Moore," she added hastily.

Sarah laughed.

"I still don't think you're telling me everything that's going on."

"I think you're right." Kate didn't elaborate. They'd never kept secrets from each other but the sudden juxtaposition of the physical and emotional impact of her relationship with Greg against Sarah's fresh-from-the-States innocence left Kate unsure where to start. There were some things she wanted to share with her sister. Others were so intensely personal she was afraid if she said them outloud they would burst and vanish like soap bubbles in the wind.

Sarah read her reticence and changed the subject.

"Seriously, do not let me drink that much again," she said, shading her eyes against the brilliant sunshine as the planes began to lift off.

"Nobody held you down and poured it down your throat," Kate said, standing up on the seat to frame a shot as one of the birds – French's – accelerated down the airstrip, mud spraying as he maneuvered strategically to avoid the craters.

"I'm not like you, Katie," Sarah said quietly. "You make yourself at home wherever you go. You're living in a tent in the middle of a Marine fighter base and you act like it's the most natural thing in the world. I've been gone from the States for four days and I'm already homesick. Was it like that for you, at first?"

"Being homesick?"

Kate thought about it. When she left the United States for Europe, she'd been thrown into such a fast paced new world there hadn't been time to be homesick. When she came to the South Pacific from the United Kingdom, the Black Sheep had welcomed her with open arms – literally – and she'd been absorbed into the rhythm of life at the 214 with an enthusiasm that knocked everything else from her mind.

And then there was Greg. From the moment he picked her up out of the mud, he'd been a force in her life. Irritating, annoying, challenging, frustrating, maddening, teasing, arousing, mind-blowing. The combined impact of him and the Black Sheep had eliminated any thoughts of the traditional life she'd left behind. Not that her transient lifestyle as a reporter had ever been anything resembling traditional.

"No, I never got homesick," she said. "I don't think I had time. I'd never actually lived on a base until this assignment. It's given me a whole new perspective on fighter pilots." She grinned, willing to let her guard down a little. "From a lot of different angles."

"I bet." Sarah's knowing look left Kate thinking her sister might not be as innocent as she let on.

Both girls looked up as another plane roared past and lifted into the air. Anderson. He flashed a thumbs-up as he powered by. Raider flattened his ears at the roar of the engine but his tail was wagging. Sarah was right. The dog was bomb proof. Meatball edged closer to the back of the jeep.

"Look – I've been out here nearly three months. God help me, I'm part of this group of nutballs now. You've been off your home base for four days, you've been island hopping the whole time and you don't know what's going to happen next. Don't beat yourself up about feeling like a lost lamb. The Army will probably cut you new orders in a day or so and then you'll go back home, right?" She reached out and squeezed Sarah's arm. "I'm glad you got to come here, even if it wasn't for long."

Sarah watched Casey's plane barrel past.

"I joined the Army because of the K9 program. I just wanted to train dogs. The only reason I volunteered to come out here was this dog." She looked over her shoulder. Raider was studying Meatball like he might be a particularly tasty snack. "He was the biggest pain in the ass to train but he's the best dog I've ever worked. I couldn't just send him with someone else."

Greg's plane was the last to take off. The multiple kill flags blurred as he blasted past them and lifted into the air. He dipped a wing in acknowledgement, then leveled off and climbed rapidly.

"Do you worry about them not coming back?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Every single time," Kate replied. "Every single one of them."

 _Especially one of them._

She lowered her camera but never took her eyes off the plane, watching as it grew smaller and smaller, then vanished into the cloud deck.

"This mission's going to take a while," she said, dropping down into the driver's seat. She handed her camera to Sarah and started the jeep. "Let's go enjoy another cup of coffee without all the testosterone poisoning this time. We've got a lot of catching up to do." She looked over her shoulder. Meatball was slowly oozing his way into the back of the jeep, one paw at a time. Raider pretended to ignore him.

 **XXX**

 _I missed Sarah a lot – missed talking, laughing, finishing each other's sentences and understanding the silences when neither of us spoke. When we were just girls, we always told each other about our firsts – first crushes, first kisses, first broken hearts. Then the war pulled us apart and sent us in different directions. We weren't girls anymore but having her around again was wonderful. And we still had things to tell each other. - KCC_

 **XXX**

When the squadron returned, the girls joined them in the Sheep Pen to debrief. Kate could tell by the boys' dejected air that the mission had not gone well. Greg wrapped an arm around Kate's waist and gave her a quick squeeze. He brushed his lips briefly against her temple, a silent acknowledgement of her relief that he'd returned safely. She felt frustration radiating off him and knew part of him was still somewhere over New Ireland, fighting a battle he wasn't meant to win that morning.

"We fought our way in and then we fought our way out," Greg said as Anderson doled out the drinks. "Those bombers never even got close to their target before Christoffersen called the mission and we hightailed it home."

Their collective level of disgust was high. Although it was a rare occurrence, the Black Sheep took it personally when they got routed. Being told to break off an active engagement against enemy forces – even though they were outnumbered two to one - went against everything they stood for.

Anderson handed Kate a beer. Sarah looked at her watch and raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it when Kate held up an admonitory finger. Sarah shrugged but shook her head in negation when Anderson offered her a beer, too. He rummaged in the refrigerator and found a Coke instead. She took it appreciatively.

"I don't think coming home with that much lead in our butts was what Lard had in mind for this mission," Casey said. He collapsed in a chair and closed his eyes. "We ran into the whole damn Japanese air force up there."

"Look, Greg, I know Lard's got it in for us but killing us outright is a little extreme, even for him," Jim grumbled.

"Get over it, you guys. We're gonna go back up there tomorrow and do it again," Greg said. "Lard says this assignment is for the foreseeable future, whatever the hell that means, so I don't see anything changing."

"Here's to going crazy." Jim lifted his bottle. "It's gonna be a real short trip." He looked at Sarah and winked. "Whattaya say we live like there's no tomorrow, darlin'?"

Kate chuckled in spite of the seriousness of the situation. The look on her sister's face was priceless. No, the Cameron girls hadn't been raised to be pushovers and it looked like Jim Gutterman was going to learn that lesson. Again.

 **XXX**

It was near sunset that evening when Meatball trotted into Kate's tent, followed by Greg. Kate scratched the terrier's back as he leaned against her chair. She'd gotten so immersed in her current story – an exploration of what it took to maintain the base's infrastructure – that she lost track of time after sitting sat down at her typewriter after evening mess. Warm hands squeezed her shoulders.

"Hey, Cameron."

She dropped her fingers from the keys and leaned her head back to rest against him, inhaling the faint scent of tobacco and the ever-present ghost of airplane exhaust.

"Be careful, there are two of us around here who answer to that now," she said, sighing at the pleasure of his hands.

"I think I can tell the two of you apart." His thumbs worked down her spine, pressure and heat and promise. He kissed the base of her neck. "Where _is_ your sister?"

"She said something about taking Raider out for some exercise after supper." Kate glanced at her watch. "Ooops. I guess that was a couple of hours ago."

In the not-so-distance, a loud cheer rose through the evening air, followed by raucous clapping and hooting. Someone shouted, "All right! Way to go, Sarah!"

"What was that?" Kate turned her head toward the noise. "Sounds like it came from the Sheep Pen."

She looked over her shoulder at Greg, suspicion in her eyes.

"Let's go," he said.

Light spilled from the windows into the tropical twilight but the Sheep Pen was unusually quiet as Greg held the door for her and they edged into the room.

A crowd leaned silently against the bar and circled the table where Sarah and Jim faced each other. Both held cards. Jim was slouched in his chair with the casual ease of someone very much in his element. He had one arm hooked around the chair's back and looked relaxed to the point of boredom. By contrast, Sarah's posture was rigidly upright, concentration rolling off her like ripples from a stone tossed into a still pond. The only thing moving were her eyes. Raider slept under the table.

"What are they doing?" Kate asked TJ.

"Playing poker," TJ answered in a low voice.

She glared at him.

"Yeah, I got that."

He shrugged.

"Five card draw, best two out of three."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

Kate groaned inwardly. This had disaster written all over it. Jim was one of the unit's best poker players, second only to Greg, and Kate had no doubt he would take her sister apart in short order. The intensity of the onlookers belied her original thought that the game had just started. She studied Jim suspiciously. She'd been foolhardy enough to play against him and Greg occasionally and recognized when the stakes were higher than usual. There was something about the atmosphere in the room that surpassed a friendly game. A few of the men glanced nervously at her before riveting their eyes on the two players again.

At the table, Jim tossed out two cards and drew two new ones. His face was a mask of indifference, lips curved in only the hint of a smile. Sarah discarded one, drew one. Her expression was a blank canvas, eyes dark and unreadable. Where had her sister gotten such a poker face, Kate wondered. The air vibrated like a plucked guitar string.

There wasn't any money on the table. Kate cut her eyes to TJ.

"What are they playing for?"

TJ shrugged.

"I'm not sure. It's between the two of them. But Jim has been after her all evening to go to the beach with him, and she kept telling him no and then _this_ happened. Jim won the first hand, Sarah won the second. We think he was just stringing her along and let her win."

Jim tossed out one card and drew a new one. He sipped his beer. He looked at Sarah with a lazy smile and chuckled.

"Hope you cleared your social calendar for this evening, Red, cuz now you and I have plans." He laid down four of a kind. "The beach is lovely this time of year. You'll enjoy it. I'll make sure of that."

Sarah closed her eyes and swallowed, her face impassive except for a slight hint of color rising in her cheeks.

"Change of plans, Captain," she said and laid down a straight. "I believe my evening is now free."

Jim stared at her in disbelief.

"How did you . . ." he started.

"Sorry, darlin'," she said smoothly, sweeping up the cards. "Want to go best two out of three again?"

"Oh hell no! My ego couldn't take it. How did you do that? Your sister can't play poker for crap. Are you sure you're related?"

"We're sisters, not twins, remember?"

Around the room, Kate noticed cash being redistributed among the men. She was pretty sure they were not only betting on who would win the game but if Sarah would actually go with Jim if the cards fell in his favor. The atmosphere relaxed, someone turned the jukebox back on and the men fell into smaller groups around the room.

Sarah stood up when Kate reached her chair. Kate took her sister's arm. Sarah was trembling, fine tremors running under her skin.

"Sit down before you fall down." Kate pushed her back into the chair. "What were you thinking? And where did you learn to play poker like that?"

"We played a lot in California. I was in the championship finals at the plant in Long Beach," Sarah said. "I figured I had a pretty good chance."

"A pretty good _chance_?" Kate stared. Her sister, the poker queen. When had _that_ happened? "And what if he'd won, Sair? I know what the stakes were. Would you have gone with him?"

"Yes." Sarah's voice was soft but steady.

Kate growled with frustration. She bit her lip. She wasn't in any position to lecture her sister on appropriate behavior for young women. However, she thought she still had the upper hand since the night she spent on the beach with Greg hadn't been the result of losing a card game. But damn it, her baby sister had no business getting involved with a Marine fighter pilot. Oh hell. She wasn't in a position to be giving advice on that either and Sarah knew it.

She gave her sister a fast, hard hug.

"I love you but you make me crazy," she said.

The best defense was a good offense. Kate turned from Sarah and crossed the room. Jim was leaning against the bar, in conversation with Greg. Unapologetically, Kate shoved herself between the two men, about half a foot from Jim's face. She noticed with satisfaction he took a step back.

"I know Sarah is a grown woman who can make her own decisions so I'm staying out of whatever is going on between the two of you," she said, "but if you hurt her in any way, I'll make what I did to Alan McNeil look like a Sunday school picnic."

Jim regarded her with amusement. He was a lot taller than she was and it was hard to maintain her air of righteous indignation when she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes.

"Cameron, don't abuse my pilots, they've already had a rough day," Greg said. He circled an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, pulling her away from Jim.

"I won't need to if he behaves himself. Put me down."

Greg put her down but he didn't let go. She wiggled futilely.

Jim shook his head and downed his beer.

"You Cameron girls are full of surprises. Little Red there is a damn fine poker player." He winked at Kate. "And I think she likes me."

"She can't like you, she's only known you for a couple of days." Kate was still blustering. "Boyington, let _go_ of me."

Greg didn't let go of her. Kate railed on his arm, realizing for the hundredth time that the man was solid muscle and he would let her go when he was good and ready. She really didn't mind but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"If I turn you lose, do you promise not to hurt Jim? I kinda need him tomorrow." He lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. He was doing it on purpose, she thought. The hot rush that rolled through her effectively derailed any thoughts of Jim's behavior around her sister.

Kate glared at Jim. He was grinning broadly and looked like he could read her thoughts. She wondered why she'd gotten the gene that made her wear her emotions on her sleeve while Sarah was apparently the poster child for poker champion of the Southwest Pacific.

"Only if he promises not to take advantage of my sister." Stretching, she grabbed the front of his shirt in a loose fist. "I mean it Jim, Sarah's never been out of the States until now. She's barely been out of North Dakota. She doesn't . . . she isn't . ." Kate stopped. She didn't really know what to say. It had been two years since she and Sarah had left North Dakota. That was a lot of time for someone to change. She should probably just let it go.

Jim raised his hands.

"How about I promise not to do anything she doesn't want me to do."

Kate rolled her eyes. Men.

"That'll have to do."

Greg let go of her. She hoisted herself up on her forearms and leaned over the bar to snag two bottles of beer chilling in a tub of ice water. She slid back down and Jim neatly relieved her of both bottles.

"Thanks, darlin'." He tipped his hat and went to find Sarah. Kate glared at his retreating back.

"Anyone who can bluff Jim in poker can hold her own," Greg said, pouring whisky into a glass and handing it to her.

"You're probably right." Kate resisted the urge to slam the whole thing down at once. It was bad enough when the Black Sheep drove her to drink. Now her own sister was doing it.

 **XXX**

 _Watching Kate around her sister was a study in strength and humor and independence and protectiveness and about a dozen other assets I admire in a woman beyond nice curves. I doubted there was anything life could throw at her that she couldn't handle and I was starting to realize what it meant to be part of that life, no matter what it threw at both of us. - GB_

 **XXX**

Kate was half asleep when the sound of low voices outside the tent brought her awake. She heard a soft laugh, the brush of fabric, a breathless "G'night." She looked at her watch. The luminous dial showed it was after midnight. Kate was caught between putting her pillow over her head and throwing it at the voices outside.

Paws scuffled on the tent floorboards and Raider trotted in, followed by Sarah. Kate could hear footsteps walking away.

"Did I make curfew?" Sarah asked. She didn't turn on the light. Her bunk creaked as she sat down and unlaced her boots.

"I'm not asking where you've been or what you've been doing," Kate yawned. "It's none of my business."

"What's your problem with Jim?" Sarah sounded a little defensive.

"I don't have a problem with Jim," Kate said honestly. "I like him fine, Sarah, but he doesn't look beyond today. He and all the rest of them live for the moment. They don't think about the future. The flirting that never ends, the drinking, the betting, the fighting – it's how they deal with the war. You saw how they came back from that mission this morning, barely in one piece. And they have to keep going back up. Their motto is enjoy today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. It's not easy to get involved with someone who lives that way. I don't want you to get hurt."

"You and Greg seem to be managing fine."

Crap. Leave it to her practical, logical, sensible sister to nail her to the spot. Kate knew she was just as bad as the Black Sheep, minus the betting and fighting. She didn't think about tomorrow, either. Life with the squadron was on a day-to-day basis. One mission at a time. One photo at a time. One kiss at a time. She and Greg never talked about anything further in the future than the next day's mission. Dee's words echoed in her mind. _Are you falling in love with him?_

She didn't let herself think about it. Every day they had together was a gift and they made the most of living in the present. What if she was in love with him? Would that change anything? She'd take the best two out of three.

"Go to sleep, Sair. We've got to get up tomorrow and do it all over again."

Sarah didn't answer. Kate heard the thump of her boots hitting the floor, followed by the sound of trousers and T-shirt being exchanged for night clothes.

Finally, Sarah spoke.

"That works both ways, Katie. I worry about you, too."

 **XXX**

 _If I'd known what was going to happen – to Greg, to me, and Sarah and Jim and all of the Black Sheep – in the coming months, I might have taken my own advice a little more seriously. But I was living on a tropical island in the middle of a war with a man who made my heart skip a beat when he looked at me and one day at a time seemed like the best way to handle things. - KCC_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Blood**

 **Vella La Cava,** **VMF 214 HQ**

The Black Sheep's second mission over New Ireland met with nearly the same results as the first. The concentrated Japanese air support swarming up to meet the American planes threw up a wall of lead that knocked them back with unexpected force. The squadron counted themselves fortunate to make it back to the base in one piece.

"What the hell are they hiding on that rock?" Greg jumped the last few feet from his bird and faced Jim. "They must have scrambled every fighter they had on this side of the theatre. If we keep going up there, some of us are going to start not coming back."

Jim echoed his sentiment.

"I got so much lead in my butt I can barely stand up," he growled, pulling off his gloves. "We're gettin' spanked."

Greg glowered as he ran a hand along the edge of his bird's starboard wing. He could feel Kate's eyes on him as he traced the holes torn by the Zeroes' 20 mm rounds. The morning had held more than its share of near misses and they'd had to abort. Again. The Black Sheep had covered the 182nd Bomber Wing's hasty retreat and headed for home. Hutch and Micklin took one look at their birds and silently went to work.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a drink," Greg said, wrapping an arm around Kate's shoulders. Now that his men were safely back on the ground, he realized her presence had been with him in the cockpit for the whole mission, a quiet energy lingering just beyond his peripheral vision. Now, feeling the warm pressure of her body as she leaned against him, arm light around his waist, helped drain some of the morning's frustration. Sarah fell in next to them as they headed for the de-brief. Meatball trotted alongside Raider. Both dogs' tails were wagging. They were the only happy ones in the group.

Greg let the door to the Sheep Pen slam behind him as he followed the girls and the rest of the men inside. They helped themselves to drinks.

"According to our intel, there's nothing in that area that hasn't been there for the last six months," he said, back against the bar. "There's no word on troop movement and their lagoons aren't deep enough to shelter a destroyer or anything like that, anyway. They must be building something new."

"I talked to Major Christofferson at the 182nd," he continued. "He knows _where_ they're supposed to hit but not _what_ they're supposed to hit. He won't give me the coordinates." He grimaced. "Apparently this is a need-to-know mission and he says I don't. Our job is to keep the Zeroes off them, not know what they're tasked with destroying. Doesn't matter, nothing's going to change until we can hold Tojo off long enough for the bombers to hit the target." He ran a hand through his hair in agitation, leaving it standing on end. "If we knew what they're protecting, we could figure out how to get rid of it ourselves."

"Whatever happens needs to happen soon. I'm gettin' mighty tired of listening to Micklin tell me how much lead he's pulled out of my tail feathers every time I land," TJ grumbled.

"How's that different from any other day?" Don jested.

TJ glowered at him.

Don grew serious.

"We gotta get that airstrip fixed, too, Pappy, or one of us is gonna buy the farm out there," he said. "I've seen Swiss cheese that didn't have as many holes in it."

Greg passed his hand over his face and was silent for a moment.

"Casey, there's an engineering battalion cooling their heels on New Caledonia. I bet those boys are thirsty. Call 'em up and see if we can swing some kind of deal. It's bad enough getting beat up in the air, it's even worse coming home and getting beat up by our own strip." He surveyed the men who were all slouched in chairs or sitting on tables, nursing drinks. They were down but not out. He met Kate's gaze and held it, letting a grim, satisfied smile break across his face. "I've got an idea but we're gonna have to go up there one more time."

 **XXX**

 _I'd seen the Black Sheep take some beatings since I'd been stationed here but nothing like this. It wasn't like them to turn tail no matter the odds and I knew Greg was ready to take things into his own hands. I saw the gleam in his eyes and could almost hear the regulations breaking. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Sarah was in the Sheep Pen, enjoying a late afternoon beer and the Black Sheep's company. Beer at 1700 was much more appropriate than whisky at 1100, although she thought 1700 was still pushing it a little. She'd never met a unit that liked to drink as much as these boys. She wouldn't say alcohol was their answer for everything but it certainly seemed to be one of their tried and true solutions.

Jim, TJ and Anderson tried to talk her into playing poker with them but she begged off, saying she didn't want to take all their money. TJ and Anderson laughed. Jim gave her the kind of look she'd seen Greg give her sister. It effectively took her mind off playing poker, which was another reason she'd left the boys to their game. If she was going to do anything that involved Jim Gutterman, she needed to keep her wits about her. She tried her hand at darts with Boyle and after he cheerfully bested her, decided she'd be better off to stick with poker even if it meant playing across from Jim's good old boy smile.

It was Sarah's third day on La Cava and she expected to have new orders cut any time, instructing her to deliver Raider to his new handler and head home. Part of her would be happy to put the Southwest Pacific in her rearview mirror and go back to the dogs waiting for her in Mississippi. But that would mean saying goodbye to Kate. And handing Raider off to a total stranger.

And then there was Jim. Kate had been her sister for 20 years. She'd spent three months training Raider. She'd known Jim for a couple of days. She'd miss Kate and Raider a lot. She didn't know how much she'd miss Jim although he was . . . intriguing.

She'd finally given in and gone for a walk on the beach with him the previous night. He'd been a gentleman in spite of Kate's warnings about the nature of fighter pilots in general and him in particular. Well, she amended, they hadn't been walking the whole time and he hadn't been a complete gentleman but when she'd said no to anything beyond a couple of kisses, he'd walked her back to Kate's tent without arguing. She imagined her sister's influence had something to do with that. She seemed to command a fair amount of respect and Sarah had no doubt she'd put her size seven-and-a-half boot down and earned every bit of it.

At Sarah's feet, Meatball finally enticed Raider into a canine wrestling match. While the shepherd had relaxed enough to play with the terrier, Sarah was keeping an eye on things to make sure the bigger dog didn't decide to eat him on a whim. So far, the matchup consisted of Meatball chewing on Raider's front leg, then going belly up in submission when the big dog grabbed him by the neck and shook him gently. Both dogs were wagging their tails madly.

The shepherd was getting restless after several days of inactivity. Although Sarah knew the men would volunteer in a heartbeat if she asked for their help with a training exercise, she didn't feel right about asking them to put on a bite sleeve and let 65 pounds of muscle and teeth play target practice with their arms. They'd taken enough abuse in the air that morning.

She supposed she could ask for help with a less violent aspect of training. Surely one or more of them would be willing to go hide in the jungle so she and Raider could practice their tracking skills. She should probably ask Jim. With a private smile, she thought he would agree to anything she suggested.

At a nearby table, Kate was studying maps and old recon photos of New Ireland. Her sister's tumble of sun-streaked light brown curls contrasted with Greg's dark head as they bent over the table. She was scribbling notes as Greg and Jim explained the topography of the island and the route of their current missions.

Jim was right about them, Sarah thought. Her sister and the major shared the body language of two people who very much enjoyed being in each other's space, no matter what they were doing. She'd watched them over the last three days – watched Greg break the technical points of their missions into layman's terms for a story Kate was writing, watched the curve of her sister's mouth as she handed him a tumbler of whisky in the evening, watched the unspoken connection they shared amidst the boys' non-stop rowdiness.

Was it possible that two people really could be made for each other, she wondered. And if so, what were the odds of them crossing paths in the middle of a war? And being able to look past the insanity of life in a front area to realize what they had? She'd been in a war zone long enough to realize fly-by-night hookups were as common as malaria. Male and female personnel alike accepted the no-strings-attached trysts without expecting any sort of lasting commitment.

Kate could say what she liked about living day-to-day but Sarah knew better. She thought her sister and the major radiated a presence that was somehow greater than the sum of the parts, whether they knew it or not. Greg Boyington was a very handsome man, she mused, although he wasn't her type. She didn't know if Jim was her type, either, although he was kind of fun in spite of Kate's warning.

Greg tapped an area on the map with a forefinger. Kate shifted sideways and pointed to another spot. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. He shook his head. She tapped her spot with greater emphasis. Greg gave her such a disbelieving look, Kate broke out laughing but kept her finger emphatically on the map.

"What? You think we should detour through Tokyo on the way there? Maybe reprise the Doolittle raid?" Greg said.

"You're not having such great luck doing it according to Lard's plan," Kate said a little indignantly. "Maybe it's time to try something different."

"How about you call him up and tell him that, darlin'?" Jim suggested. "He might take it better coming from you."

"Try something different . . .," Greg muttered. "Maybe we should put the press corps in charge of these missions. That would make as much sense as this suicide Lard keeps ordering."

Kate smiled at him.

"If you want something done right . . ."

Casey stuck his head in the door, waving a sheet of paper. He had a big grin on his face.

"This just came over from Espritos," he said, crossing the room. "Pappy, you can do the honors."

Greg glanced at the paper and a genuine smile replaced the frustration his face.

"Hey, Sarah – looks like the Army finally decided what to do with you."

She pushed back from the table and stepped over the wrestling dogs. Meatball was completely upside down and one of his ears was in Raider's mouth. He looked ecstatic.

"Congratulations, Sergeant," Greg said.

She blinked, confused.

"What?"

"Field promotion. And relocation. Your master sergeant recommended it on the basis of demonstrated leadership and merit." He paused. "That's Army-speak for saying they really need someone with your skill level in this theatre."

Sarah looked stunned as the information washed over her. So much for going back to Mississippi any time soon.

Kate hugged her.

"That's great!" Then, seeing her less than enthusiastic response, "Isn't it?"

Sarah reached out for the paper. She forced herself to keep breathing as she read the typewritten orders.

"I'm to go back to Bougainville and train the dog and handler teams on the new base there," she said, reading slowly. "Then Raider and I will be assigned to the 37th Infantry Division on Rendova. Permanently. I'll leave on the transport this evening."

Kate took her sister by the shoulders.

"Sair, this is wonderful. You don't have to give up Raider. And you get to stay close to me. Well, sort of."

Jim left his poker game and threw an arm around Sarah's shoulders.

"Congratulations, Little Red. I never thought I'd want to kiss a sergeant."

"Don't get in a hurry to start now," Sarah said self-consciously. She slapped him on the chest but didn't pull away from his embrace. She took a deep breath. It looked like she was going to have to get over being homesick in a big hurry.

 **XXX**

Sarah left on a transport bound for Bougainville two hours later. Kate embraced her fiercely at the base of the plane's steps.

"I'll see you . . . sometime," Sarah promised and gave her sister a peck on the cheek.

"I know you will." Kate nodded over her shoulder where Jim was loitering with some of the other Black Sheep. "Do you need to kiss anyone else good-bye?"

Sarah blushed, a soft rose that complemented her coloring.

"We said our good-byes earlier," she said. "In private."

Kate arched her eyebrows.

"Oh, did you now?"

"We did." Pause. "Don't be nosy, it's none of your business."

"Ha," Kate snorted. "That's never stopped anyone around here. Want me to keep an eye on him for you?"

"I think you've got your hands full already."

Kate hugged her again, scratched Raider on the head and then they were gone.

 **XXX**

 _Nothing is static during a war. Our lives were changing and in ways none of us saw coming. In the blink of an eye, Sarah was assigned to the Solomons. She and Jim had something going on that wasn't any of my business. Greg and the boys were flying the worst missions they'd been assigned since my arrival here. When I fell asleep that night, I had that same dream – everyone I loved was in the same place. And we were all in danger. - KCC_

 **XXX**

The next morning, while the Black Sheep took their third beating over New Ireland, Kate loitered in the com shack, idly drafting a longhand version of a story about malaria and trying to shake the haunting images of her dream. She missed Sarah. Her sister had only been here three days but it had been nice to have a little more estrogen on the base. With Sarah soon to be stationed on Rendova, Kate hoped it would be possible for them to see each other more often but this was a war, not a family reunion, and God knew there weren't any guarantees. At least if she wrote her a letter, it shouldn't take three weeks to get there.

The radio picked up the squadron's chatter as they neared La Cava on their return.

"How you doin', Pappy?" Jim's voice was tense as it crackled over the radio. "You're losing altitude."

"I'm losing a lot of things," Greg answered. "This whole damn plane is falling apart. I think the engine's gonna seize but if I can make the strip I should be able to set it down in one piece."

Kate sat up in the chair and took her feet off the desk. Greg was having engine trouble. Again. She forced herself to take a deep breath and not let fear sink its fangs into her. She should be used to it by now. In the last three months, all of the boys had come limping back to the base in planes with various degrees of damage but never from missions that far afield. She didn't know what had happened but Greg must have thought he could nurse it back without ditching. The damage would have grown progressively worse on the trip home. New Ireland to La Cava was a long way to fly in a damaged bird.

"Roger that. You set down first, Pappy. I'm comin' down right behind you."

"Jim, you're smoking like a bad cigar." TJ sounded strained.

"Don't come any closer, TJ, I got enough problems of my own," Jim said. "This buggy's lit up like a Christmas tree. I don't think I got a single gauge in the normal range."

Kate bit her lip.

"Rest of you boys doing okay?" Greg voice was tense. "Anderson? Boyle? You still with us?"

"I'm low on fuel and oil and think I lost half my right rudder somewhere over Choiseul but otherwise, never better." Boyle sounded determinedly cheerful.

"That is affirmative, Pappy," Anderson replied, "still in one piece, although I hope I can say the same after we set down."

"Damn, Greg, you're losing altitude fast!" Don said. "And you're starting to heel over."

"All right, you meatheads, I'm gonna land this thing. Gravity's a bitch of a mistress. Don't worry about it making an oil spot – according to my gauges, there isn't any left."

Kate didn't see any reason to wait for more. She bolted out of the com shack and punched the jeep toward the airstrip, knuckles white on the wheel. Behind her, the radio crackled again, voices echoing through the empty room.

"Jim! You're on fire now. I can see flames from back here," TJ said.

"The fun never ends." Jim sounded resigned.

"Jim, you set down first, before you blow up," Greg cut in. "I can keep this crate in the air for a few more minutes."

"Last one down buys drinks." Jim signed off.

 **XXX**

Kate got to the airstrip in time to see the first plane angling downward, several others close behind. She could hear the cylinders firing out of sync as it fought to stay aloft. Thick clouds of oily black smoke were rolling over the canopy and tongues of flame glowed under the engine cowling. Greg had to be flying blind, she thought, biting her lip. There was no way he could see the strip clearly. He would have to land by sheer memory. The boys joked about mapping the potholes but it was no laughing matter. The plane touched down, bounced. Kate heard the engine cut out, leaving an eerie rushing silence as it hurtled down the strip. She knew once the power was chopped, the Corsairs became even harder to handle. She watched as the plane slowed, veered, corrected. She let out her breath. He was going to make it.

Then it happened. The starboard landing gear dropped into a pothole. The plane jerked violently, half-obscured by the smoke. The morning's sunny peace was shattered by the screech of tearing metal as the aircraft cartwheeled off the strip.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Kate slammed the jeep into gear again and gunned it forward even as the plane ground to a halt, one wing sheared off, the fuselage canted at an impossible angle, the cockpit almost at ground level. She leaped out of the jeep and bolted toward it. Behind her, she heard the sound of other aircraft approaching but didn't turn to look.

The haze of smoke and dust swirling around the wreckage made it hard to see anything. The name stenciled under the cockpit was partially visible as the smoke shifted. " . . .TERMAN." It wasn't Greg. It was Jim. What the hell? It didn't matter.

"Are you all right?" she yelled.

"Been better, darlin'!"

Jim reached up to slide the canopy back but it wouldn't move. Jumping forward, Kate wedged her fingers into the crack and pried with everything she had. Nothing. The track was bent too badly. Fire crackled softly at the front of the plane.

She stepped back, adrenaline surging through her. She sized up the glass, which was already partially shattered from the impact of the landing.

"Cover your face," she yelled. Jim turned away just as her booted foot made contact. The glass shuddered but didn't break. She kicked it again with strength born of desperation. This time the already weakened glass gave a little, spider-webbing along established fault lines. She kicked it a third time, her heel landing furiously, and the glass shattered. She booted it a few more times to clear the space, then dropped to her knees and crawled partway into the cockpit. She could feel shards of broken glass biting at exposed skin. Jim looked dazed but he was conscious. Blood trickled from cuts on his face and the upper half of his flight suit was a splattered mess.

"Can you move?" she asked. "You're on fire, you know."

"That's what they keep telling me," he said, yanking at the clasp of his safety harness. "Damnit - buckle's jammed."

Kate fumbled in her trousers for the pocketknife she carried. It was small but sharp. She flicked it open and began to hack at the thick webbing of the harness. Where was Greg? Had he been able to land? She'd heard nothing over the semi-panicked buzzing of her own brain, hadn't looked beyond the wreckage of the plane she thought was Greg's.

"Can you hurry up, darlin'? It's gettin' warm in here." Jim's speech slurred. Kate looked up briefly. She wondered how badly he was hurt.

Fire licked greedily along the fuselage, igniting oil in a blue sheet of flame. She could feel the heat inching closer.

Jim groaned. His eyes were losing focus. Kate reached up and slapped him hard.

"Don't pass out on me, Gutterman, or I'll never get you out of here." She sawed at the webbing. "Sarah likes you for some reason and I'd take it personally if you expired on my watch."

His eyes flicked open again.

"You're a bossy little thing. What does Greg see in you?"

"I have my moments," Kate said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah. That's what he told me." Jim managed a lopsided leer. "Especially on the beach when there's no one around for miles. He said you're not shy."

"Greg didn't tell you anything about that night on the beach and we both know it." Kate said, sawing frantically.

"What I want to know is how . . ." his words faded. She looked up, saw him grimace in pain, then refocus. ". . . is how a guy his age manages to satisfy a girl like you."

"Jesus, Jim, I've got half a mind to leave you in here. Some things get better with age, you ever think about that?"

Jim snorted.

Kate could smell leaking fuel. It was trickling slowly in a dark line from the crumpled metal of the remaining wing. The fire curled closer, flames moving with a hypnotic, sensual slowness.

"I thought these things had self-sealing fuel tanks."

"Think I voided the warrantee with that landing."

Smoke billowed into the cockpit and Kate coughed. The knife handle was slick in her hand. Sweat? Blood? His? Hers? She didn't look down.

Suddenly, a strong hand closed on her shoulder. She jumped.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute, Cameron." Greg dropped to his knees and went shoulder to shoulder with her in the wrecked cockpit.

She looked at him, stunned.

"You're all right!"

"Let's just say I walked away from the landing."

Kate was weak with relief but there was no time for it.

"Can you lift him to take the pressure off the webbing?"

"Hey Greg, I suppose Lard's gonna take this out of my next pay check," Jim said.

"I hope we're all around to collect our next pay check." Greg pushed his shoulder under Jim's arm. He shoved him upward and Kate's knife sliced easily through the remaining harness webbing. Jim half slid, half fell out of the cockpit. Kate could feel the flames licking closer to her trouser legs now. She got to her feet as Greg pulled Jim backward away from the plane. With Greg supporting his left side, Kate grabbed Jim's right arm and heaved upward. They took one step and Jim stumbled, dragging them both to their knees. Behind them, the plane was burning in earnest, fire snapping greedily at the dripping mixture of fuel and oil.

Greg hauled Jim back to his feet and the three of them ran in stumbling slow motion like something out of a nightmare. Behind them, flames finally hit the fuel tank and the Corsair exploded. The concussion wave lifted them, throwing them forward before slamming them into the ground. Jim hit first and Kate covered her head as she tumbled on top of him. Greg threw himself over both of them. The fireball shot skyward with a deafening boom and flaming debris rained down.

Kate struggled for breath. She could hear Jim groaning under her. Someone's elbow was in her ribs and there was a stabbing pain in her right arm. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear a vehicle approaching and a lot of yelling. Greg climbed to his feet and pulled her up. An ambulance braked to a stop nearby, nurses and medics pouring out. Dee was there, and Laura, too. Kate watched numbly as they directed the corpsmen to lift Jim onto a stretcher. He reached out and grabbed her hand. She squeezed it tightly, Greg's fingers closing over hers as they carried him to the ambulance.

"Thanks, darlin'," he said. "Pappy, don't let this one go. She's cool under pressure and she's got a mean right hook."

"You hit him?" Greg asked.

"I may have slapped him a little harder than was entirely necessary. I thought he was going to pass out," Kate said. "I should have let him. He was asking inappropriate questions."

"Probably got hit on the head."

"He asks inappropriate questions when he hasn't been hit on the head."

The medic closed the ambulance doors and trotted around to the driver's seat.

"Any other customers?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No." Greg looked around. "Everyone else made it down in one piece."

"You two all right?"

"We'll do," Greg said.

The medic gave him a thumbs up, jumped behind the wheel and pulled away.

 **XXX**

 _Wars aren't won or lost in epic battles. They're won or lost in matters of seconds that spell the difference between life and death. And I realized how much I had to lose. - GB_

 **XXX**

They stood, watching the ambulance weave across the airstrip toward the hospital as the blackened hulk of the plane burned behind them. Smoke swirled on the breeze. A fire crew responded, somewhat belatedly. Greg wrapped an arm around Kate's shoulders and led her away from the wreckage. He'd damn near landed on top of the jeep, she noticed. The adrenaline-fueled rush that had carried her through the last quarter hour drained away, leaving her cold in spite of the day's heat. Greg pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she pressed her face against his chest. They stood, neither of them saying anything, then he tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her head back.

"You took 20 years off my life when I saw you climb into that plane." His voice was tight, his face inches from hers, smeared with sweat and soot. "Promise me you'll never do anything reckless like that again. Promise me you'll stay out of the way."

"The fire crew wasn't going to get there in time," she said. "I can't . . . I can't promise I'll ever stay out of the way."

"You could have died in there!" Anger edged his voice now. "A few more seconds and you'd have gone up in that fireball. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I thought it was you." Her eyes locked onto his, defiant, as her words came out in a torrent. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat so don't tell me to stop."

He looked at her, stunned. She continued. "I was listening in the com shack. I knew you'd been hit and I thought you were coming in first. I couldn't see the markings on the plane before it went down. There was too much smoke. I had to see if you were . . . if you'd been . . ."

"Do you make it a habit of rushing head first into things that could kill you?" His mouth was a hard line but the anger on his face didn't match the emotion in his voice.

"You bring it out in me."

She started to turn away. Her clothes were covered with filth and sticky with blood. Her arms were stinging with a dozen tiny cuts from broken glass and she could feel bruises forming where she'd been thrown to the ground by the explosion. All she wanted was a shower and clean clothes. And a drink. The wind changed, sending smoke eddying around them. On the flight line, pilots were yelling back and forth. Greg swore. He grabbed her arm, spun her roughly back to face him.

"Damnit, Kate, I love you."

The words hung on the smoky air between then, creating a vortex that pulled time to a standstill. She tumbled into the hot blue depths of his eyes, unable to breathe, not trusting herself to speak. She was aware of the heat of his hands on her arms, the warm metal of the plane against her back.

"You do?" Her voice was shaky.

"Yes! Is that so hard to believe?"

She'd known.

She'd known since the night she told him about having dinner with Colonel Lard. She'd known by the look in his eyes when he asked if Lard knew who she really was – knowing the truth would mean her leaving La Cava.

She'd known before their night on the beach. She'd known afterward, from the way he guarded her privacy from the men in spite of their incessant teasing. She knew it from his touch. His words. The way he wove her into his life, sharing the daily routine with her in a way that went beyond even the searing heat of their physical connection. She closed her eyes – saw him laughing with her, staring at her in disbelief, that look on his face when his thoughts couldn't be spoken out loud.

The impact of his words ricocheted through her like a live round, creating chaos she could no longer ignore. She'd been falling in love with him for weeks. She hadn't thought about her feelings, tried to ignore them. Every time he got into that cockpit, there was the chance she'd never see him again.

There was blood on his temple. She reached up and wiped it away with her thumb. Falling in love in the middle of a war was dangerous business and from the look in his eyes, he knew it, too.

"I love you, too." Her words came softly, like the sudden discovery of something unexpected and rare.

He took a step forward and pinned her against the wing.

"God, Cameron, you are difficult."

"It comes naturally," she whispered.

He kissed her and her body ignited as her lips opened under his, surrender and possession at the same time. They were both covered in sweat and oily soot and blood but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She wanted to feel the heat of his body, strong and alive against hers, an affirmation of today, devil take tomorrow.

He gripped her upper arms, pulling her up hard as his mouth dominated hers, leaving no room for doubts. She jerked in pain and cried out.

"Whoa, sweetheart." Greg stepped back, scanned her upper body, saw the dark stains on both her T-shirt and his flight suit. "That's a lot of blood, are you sure it was all Jim's?"

Kate looked down. Her mind was spinning from his kiss and the intoxicating realization that he loved her. _He loved her._ It left her dizzy and unable to think about anything beyond the burn of his mouth against hers. _He loved her._ He'd said it at the most wonderfully unexpected time – which made it perfect.

"Yes. No. I –" she stared numbly as he gripped her right hand and straightened her arm, palm up. Blood trickled from a deep gash between her wrist and elbow, steady rivulets dripping down her fingers. She must have cut it at some point during Jim's fire-etched rescue. In the adrenaline rush of the moment, she hadn't even felt it. She studied her arm, scarlet smeared with soot. Her vision started to blur at the edges and she felt a wave of cold wash over her.

"Don't let go of me," she said weakly. "I'm going to pass out."

Greg gathered her tightly but looked disbelieving.

"You dive into a burning aircraft and drag an injured man out seconds before it explodes over your head, then you pass out at the sight of blood?"

"If it's mine? Yes."

She fainted in his arms.

 **XXX**

Kate came back to consciousness while he was carrying her into the hospital.

"Put me down," she protested, struggling feebly. Her mind was still spinning from a combination of pain and emotion.

"Not a chance. You couldn't stand up by yourself if you tried." An edge of concern underscored his words.

She let her head rest against his shoulder. He was a mess. They were both a mess.

"I'll be fine. Really. I just won't look." In complete contradiction, she looked at her arm. Greg had wrapped it with what appeared to be one of Hutch's clean grease rags. At least it had been clean to start with. Now a dark stain was seeping through the rough cloth. She felt her head start to spin again.

"Where do you want her?" Greg asked Dee when she appeared around a corner.

Dee's eyes widened as she gave her friend a once over.

"Follow me. You both look like you've been through hell." She reached automatically to check Kate's pulse. "Both of you. I thought Gutterman was the only casualty."

"He started it. This is all his fault," Kate muttered, starting to get her wits back.

Dee led them to an empty bay in the infirmary and Greg deposited her on a table.

"It isn't," he said to Dee. "It's mostly her own fault. Was she this bad when she was younger?"

"I think she's getting worse," Dee said. She took one glance at Kate's arm and began arranging suture material on a tray. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you bring it out in her."

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Don't leave." Kate reached out with her left arm and gripped his hand. He squeezed back.

"I'm not going anywhere. If I let go of you, you'd fall off the table."

Kate resolutely averted her face while Dee cleaned her arm. She kept a firm grip on Greg's hand and anchored herself in his eyes as Doc Reese inspected it and tied off a neat row of stitches. Greg was smiling, she noticed. Filthy, bloody and smiling. Well, they were a matched set.

"I'd ask how a news correspondent ends up needing more stitches than the pilot who crashed the plane but I probably don't need to know," Reese said, wrapping her arm with gauze. "Your blood pressure is back to normal. You can go if you can walk out of here on your own." He looked at Greg. "If I release her, can you be responsible for her?"

Kate rolled her eyes.

"I don't need – " she started, but Greg cut her off.

"I'm not sure anyone is qualified to be responsible for her," he said. "But I'll take my chances."

Kate pressed her arm across her stomach and tried to ignore the throbbing ache.

"How's Jim?" she asked.

"Mild concussion, cuts, bruises and a few burns. I'm keeping him overnight for observation. Ya'll can have him back in the morning," Reese said. He nodded at Kate's arm. "I'd give you a pain killer but I imagine you can find a bottle of it back at your base."

"Finally," Kate blew out an exaggerated sigh, "someone who recognizes the medicinal benefits of whisky."

"Come on, Cameron." Greg helped her slide off the table. "I know where there's a bottle with your name on it."

 **XXX**

 _He was right. If he let go of me I would have fallen off the table. And not just because of the blood and the pain. I never wanted him to let go of me. I didn't want just one morning of waking up with him. I wanted every morning and every night and all the hours in between. And that scared me to death. - KCC_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: A mission to Espritos**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"Sit."

Kate collapsed into a chair. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, holding her injured arm gingerly across her stomach. Greg picked up the bottle of Scotch on his desk and poured two glasses. Doc Reese said she was fine but Greg had seen pilots go into shock hours after coming back from a rough mission and he wasn't so sure. The accident had upset her more than she wanted to admit and he knew the physical injuries were the least of it.

 _I thought it was you._

She'd thrown herself into a burning aircraft because she thought he was inside it.

She'd scared him half to death. He fought the landing with everything he had, trying to keep both his bird and the airstrip from killing him, only to see her diving into the flaming wreck of Jim's plane. He hadn't known until that horrible moment when he saw her amidst the smoke and flames, how much he loved her. Afterward, knowing what he could have lost if he hadn't gotten there in time, the words had come unbidden.

That sure as hell wasn't how he intended to tell her he loved her. Girls wanted candlelight and soft music for that sort of thing – not blood and sweat and the exploded wreck of a fighter burning in the background.

Well, most girls. Kate wasn't most girls.

He'd watched those gray eyes widen and go dark, searching, before she said it back. Her tone had been firm. There'd been no doubt.

She loved him.

He had no idea why. What in the hell did a girl like her want with a guy like him? But he'd known her long enough to know she didn't do anything halfway.

Kate set down her glass. She'd put away the drink already, sliding it back with an ease that never failed to leave him amused and a little impressed.

"If you're planning to drink that whole bottle, you'd better clean up first," he said. "I'm not sleeping with you like that." He waved a hand at her general state of disarray. Her skin and clothing were streaked with dirt, soot, blood and iodine. "And if you get too drunk to stand up on your own, I'm not holding you up in the shower."

She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching up. He could see her weighing the possibilities.

"I'm sleeping with you?"

"Yes. I promised Doc Reese I'd be responsible for you."

"Do I look like I can't take care of myself?" Her tone was light but there was a fragile look about her, like she could shatter at any moment. He wasn't letting her out of his sight tonight.

"Sweetheart, you look like a stiff breeze would knock you over."

She made a face and held out her glass for a refill.

 **XXX**

 _I felt like a stiff breeze would knock me over, too. For the first time since my parents' death, I realized it might be okay to let someone else take care of me for just a little while. For the first time since I'd come here, the war had gotten in-your-face personal and I realized how much was at stake. I wasn't sure any of it was a good idea but the heart wants what it wants. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Later, after they'd both had showers and a lot more whisky, Greg wrapped his arms around her and let his mouth trail along her neck, drinking in the scent of soap and the underlying sweetness of her skin. She was still in a fragile state and he had no intention of taking advantage of it but it was impossible to keep his hands off her. Holding her created an alternate universe where the war didn't exist.

"Don't start with me, Boyington," she said. There was a warning edge to her voice, even though she leaned into the embrace, burying her face against his chest. She was softness and heat wrapped around a steel core. Maybe not so fragile.

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be able to say no to you and we are _not_ making love in this tent tonight."

"Then we'll go to your tent."

"My arm feels like it's on fire and I'm nearly three sheets to the wind, not exactly the stuff of romance." He could feel a current of laughter ripple through her body.

"If you drink more, you won't feel your arm."

"If I drink more, I won't feel anything else, either, and that would be a complete waste." She swayed a little and poked him in the chest. "I need to be sober where you're involved."

"Come sleep with me, Kate. Just sleep," he said. "I don't want you to be alone tonight."

He didn't want her to be alone any night, he realized, and although his mind rebelled at the complete impossibility of that, he ignored it.

Alcohol and exhaustion claimed her quickly once she stretched out next to him, her breathing a soft rhythm against his chest. He wondered what he'd ever done to deserve her in his life.

 **XXX**

 _I lay there in the dark and thought in spite of everything that had happened that day, hearing her say those three words made it worth it. Jim probably wouldn't agree with me but he was just going to have to get over it. - GB_

 **XXX**

Kate's dreams were fragmented with the sound of tearing metal and the odor of burning fuel. She woke, crying into the darkness, grasping for something she couldn't reach. Greg's hands closed over hers and pulled her close.

"You're all right, Katie," he whispered. "I've got your six."

His words cut through the nightmare and she relaxed against him, letting his solid presence wrap around her, pulling her back into sleep.

The next morning, her head pounded and her arm ached but waking to Greg's blue eyes inches from hers took her mind off it.

"That's two you owe me," he said, rolling onto an elbow to study her. "Twice you've slept in my bed at your convenience."

"At my convenience? I think you arranged it both times." She sat up and tugged down her rumpled T-shirt. "And just when do you plan to collect on that debt?"

"I suppose now is out of the question?"

Kate's breath caught in her throat. No. There was no known defense against those eyes and that smile. There was something in those eyes this morning that hadn't been there before, something that surpassed even the promise of his body.

She reached up and touched his unshaven cheek.

"I love you, Greg. I mean it," she said softly, then broadened her smile. "But you are not getting me on my back in this tent."

His own smile broadened, dimples making him more attractive that he had a right to be. Kate felt herself losing the tenuous grip on her self-control.

"I didn't say you'd be on your back, sweetheart."

She slapped him on the chest and pushed out of the bunk.

"You're impossible, Boyington. I need coffee. A lot of coffee."

 **XXX**

"We're not going back up there."

Greg tossed a handful of maps and recon photos onto a table in the Sheep Pen.

"Uh, Greg, Colonel Lard said – " Casey began hesitantly.

"Colonel Lard can flap his arms and fly over there himself." Greg surveyed the assembled squadron. They all looked tense at the prospect of what the next mission held in store. Jim had just gotten back from the hospital. He looked a little battered but not too much worse for the wear. Kate perched atop a table, cradling a mug of coffee. The bandage around her right forearm gave her a slightly reckless air. Candlelight and wine and romance? Who was he kidding? She wouldn't be happy with anything less than a full-scale commitment to whatever mission was at hand.

A private smile played across her lips and the previous day's haunted look had been replaced with one of . . . invitation? Greg studied her for a minute. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. Yeah. Invitation. He forced his mind back to the briefing.

"I've got a plan," he said.

"Here we go," Jim muttered.

"The Japanese defense on that island is based on a direct, large scale assault – bombers with fighter cover – they wouldn't be expecting a smaller force coming through the back door. If we had those target coordinates we could send most of the squadron up as a decoy, bring a few planes in under the radar and be in and out before their spotters ever know we're there. It would be a fast trip with no margin of error but we could do it."

"I've heard this plan before," Jim protested. "It starts with you saying 'fast trip' and it ends with the Imperial air force chasing us all the way home. Besides, hasn't the 182nd been taking recon photos? What good is it going to do us to take more pictures of the same thing?"

"We're not going to take pictures of it." Greg jabbed a finger at the stack of prints on the table. "We're going to have Hutch mount 500 pounders and we're going to blow the hell out of whatever they're sitting on and be done with it."

"Greg," Jim chuckled. "I may have hit my head yesterday but even I know you can't get a Corsair off this strip with auxiliary tanks _and_ 500 pounders. You tried that once, remember?"

"Not everyone is going to need the auxiliary tanks this time." Greg tapped the map. "Four of us will come in their back door – " He glanced at Kate, " – not through Tokyo, sweetheart, but close – through the mountain passes where their radar can't pick us up. We'll hit the site while the rest of you are playing tag upstairs. The four of us won't carry spare fuel, just enough to hit and run. We'll be on vapor by the time we get back so it's gonna be up to the rest of you meatheads to screen us. We won't be able to engage. I'm not worried, I know we can outrun them. By the time they figure out what's going on, it'll be over."

"You're forgetting one thing," Jim said, rubbing his chin. "We don't have those coordinates. We can't hit what we can't find and we won't have enough fuel to fly around looking for it. And right now we can't even get off this airstrip without killing ourselves. After yesterday, I ain't in no hurry to try that again.

"Got it covered," Greg said. "The 5th Construction Battalion confirmed they are coming in day after tomorrow to start work on the strip. I'm grounding the squadron temporarily in light of it being a suicide mission just trying to take off.

"As for the coordinates, I'm sure Lard has them filed in triplicate somewhere in his office. It might take a little doing but I figure if we can break in there, we can find them. Here." Greg handed Casey a slip of paper. "Post this on the mission board. Black Sheep are due for a little R and R - 24 hours on Espritos. We leave the day after tomorrow." He turned to Kate. "And Lieutenant Halvorson will accompany us. Someone in this bunch is bound to need a medical officer before it's over."

The corner of her mouth quirked and he knew she saw through his thinly veiled excuse for her to travel with the squadron. Knew and wasn't arguing.

A cheer of approval went up and the men dispersed. Kate refilled her coffee and headed into the dark room. Jim paused on his way out.

"Is an overnight on Espritos necessary? Don't you think we could just zip over there when Lard's in a meeting, search his office and get out?"

"What's your rush?" Greg said, gathering up the recon photos. "Never thought I'd hear you turning down R and R."

"Oh!" Jim chuckled. "I get it. You don't plan on sleeping alone, do you?"

"I have a debt to collect," Greg said, looking at the darkroom door.

"A debt? Is that what they're calling it now?"

 **XXX**

Two days later, the 5th Construction Battalion deplaned from the transport. Their equipment was being ferried to a beachhead on the east side of the island and they promised to work around the clock to have the strip in serviceable condition by the time the Black Sheep returned. The lure of vintage Scotch was a powerful motivator.

"Good lord, Major," their CO said, looking around. "I hope ya'll are religious fellows cuz it's gonna take all the prayers ya got to make it back in the air. The pilot dang near had a coronary landing this here bird."

"You do the fixing, we'll do the praying," TJ assured him, eager to be off. The Black Sheep were showered, shaved and dressed in pressed uniforms, milling around in anticipation of leave. Back in Laura's borrowed uniform, Kate was aware of the men's admiring glances. Had it really been _that_ long since she'd worn anything but trousers and T-shirts? She knew they appreciated her eclectic fashion sense but at the same time these boys were traditional enough to admire a woman who dressed like a woman. She waited in the queue of pilots giving their names and being checked off the passenger manifest as they boarded. The corporal with the clipboard paused when she said, "Lieutenant Halvorson, Laura."

"You're traveling with the 214, ma'am?"

"Yes, Corporal, some of these men require monitoring for medical conditions," she said briskly.

"Yes, ma'am." He put a check by her name.

Ahead of her, Anderson groaned theatrically.

"Get moving," she hissed. "Or I'll give you a medical condition."

Onboard, seated between Greg and Jim, she put a hand on each of their knees and closed her eyes as the C-47 powered down the strip.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate flying?" she said through clenched teeth. "How do you do this every day?"

Jim winced at her grip.

"Is she this rough on you, Pappy?" he muttered.

Greg laughed and covered Kate's hand with his as the transport lumbered safely into the air.

"You have no idea."

 **XXX**

 _I wasn't crazy about getting back on a plane and I had no idea how Greg's plan was going to work once we got to Espritos. Being back in uniform on Colonel Lard's turf wasn't my idea of R and R but at least Greg was there this time. I wasn't about to ask what could go wrong. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Espritos Marcos, Allied Rear Command, Officers' Club**

Kate enjoyed watching the Black Sheep in action in the officers' club. It was a step up from watching them in action in the Sheep Pen since now they were pursuing female personnel who were complete strangers although clearly wise to the ways of fighter pilots. The entertainment potential was endless. Don had already been slapped once and TJ had tried the same line on three different nurses, all to no avail. The more they got rejected, the harder they tried.

She, Greg and Casey were seated at a table that gave them full view of the bar's front and side entrances, waiting for Lard to show up as was his evening habit. To pass the time, they were enjoying an excellent bottle of Aussie wine.

Jim sat down next to Kate. Greg lifted the wine bottle in silent question.

"Hit me," Jim said, scanning the room.

Greg poured. Kate noticed that whatever agreement Jim had with Sarah, it hadn't kept him from flirting with a number of nurses, although she thought his heart didn't really seem to be in it.

"Heads up," Jim said. "Lard at 2 o'clock."

Their table was right next to the bar and the colonel couldn't miss them. He acknowledged the men with a grimace, then his eyes fell on Kate. A look of pained disbelief crossed his face as he saw Greg's arm stretched casually along the back of her chair. She smiled and lifted her wine glass in acknowledgement.

"So nice to see you again, Colonel," she said pleasantly.

"Likewise, Lieutenant." Lard looked from Kate to Greg and back to Kate, his disapproval clear, then sat down with several other members of the top brass. His back was determinedly to the Black Sheep's table.

Fifteen minutes later, Greg said, "All right, Lard knows we're all here in the bar." He eyed the table where the colonel was engrossed in conversation. "Time to go. We should be back in less than 20 minutes." He and Casey stood up. "If Lard tries to leave before then, come up with a diversion to stall him, then come get us. There's a jeep parked out back." Greg tossed the keys to Jim.

"What kind of diversion?" Kate said.

"The two of you will come up with something." Greg winked at her and he and Casey slipped out the side exit, unnoticed.

Kate turned to Jim and re-filled his wine glass.

"So," she said, smiling. "Tell me, what's the deal between you and my sister?"

 **XXX**

"Damnit, Lard's getting up to leave," Jim hissed, checking his watch. "Greg and Casey aren't back yet. We can't let him walk out of here."

Kate looked at him, her mind racing.

" _The two of you will come up with something."_

 _Oh for heaven's sake._

"Lean over and put your arm around me, like you're going to whisper something in my ear," she said.

Jim eyed her suspiciously, then grinned.

"You seem to have forgotten what happened the last time I tried that." He slid an arm around her shoulders and leaned close. "I knew you'd come around."

Kate smiled.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Honest. I'm not going to enjoy this nearly as much as you think."

She pulled back and slapped him. The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek carried through the bar.

"How _dare_ you!" she said loudly. It wasn't a question. She shoved her chair back and stood, the very picture of affronted feminine dignity.

Jim hastily swallowed a smile and managed a look of offended innocence.

"Darlin', I can explain!" he protested. "I didn't mean – "

One of the Navy officers at the next table leaped to Kate's defense.

"Did that Marine insult you, ma'am?"

"Yes! He said . . . he wanted . . . oh, it was awful!"

The officer and one of his buddies launched after Jim.

"Thanks, Katie," Jim muttered and dropped the first guy with a hard punch to the gut.

Kate dodged around the table as Jim ducked a swing from the guy's buddy. She pretended to trip, falling into another officer as he joined the fray. The man toppled, landed against Lard's back and they both crashed to the floor in a tangle of khaki and white. Lard never saw who hit him. French and Anderson waded in and all hell broke loose.

Kate jammed the cork in the wine bottle, grabbed it by the neck and bolted for the door. Jim blocked a punch from a pursuer and answered it with one of his own. The man staggered and went down, barely missing Kate, who stumbled for real this time, unaccustomed to the high heeled pumps Laura had convinced her to wear. Jim grabbed her elbow and set her back on her feet.

"Let's get out of here!"

They dashed down the steps and around the corner of the building.

"Hitting me is getting to be a habit with you," he said, rubbing his cheek. "I think you enjoy it."

"Maybe a little," Kate panted. "Now what?"

Greg and Casey materialized out of the shadows behind them. They'd been running and both were breathing hard.

"What happened?" Kate said. "What took you so long?"

"We, uh, ran into some old friends," Casey said. "How were we supposed to know they had routine security patrols now? We had to go out a back window."

Greg looked toward the front of the officers' club. A white uniformed body flew out of the door, accompanied by the sound of glass breaking. There was a great deal of yelling. Several MPs ran into the building. One came flying out almost as quickly as he'd gone in.

"Did you get the coordinates?" Jim queried.

They all pressed deeper into the shadows as sirens sounded. Greg slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him when she caught a heel and threatened to stumble again. He held her a little longer than was probably necessary, she noticed. Not that she was complaining.

"Yes," Casey confirmed. "Lard's put better locks on his files. It took us 20 minutes just to get them open this time."

"We need to get out of here," Jim said. He rubbed his cheek again. "Lard was just getting ready to leave when Katie hauled off and smacked me."

"Did he deserve it?" Greg asked her.

"Oddly, no, not this time."

All four of them ran for the jeep at the back of the building. Jim started the engine as the others piled in. Kate leaped into the passenger seat, the wine bottle still gripped tightly.

"You brought the wine?" Greg looked over the seat, shaking his head.

"It's good wine! And it's paid for, of course I brought it!" Behind them, voices escalated. Kate slapped the dash. "Drive!"

They careened across the base, narrowly missing several pedestrians out for an evening stroll, ditched the jeep and sprinted the final 50 yards to the Quonset that housed part of the base's guest quarters. Kate decided she was wearing boots and trousers the next time she went on one of the squadron's capers. Running in a skirt and heels left a lot to be desired. Greg unlocked the door and the four of them tumbled inside. He slammed the door shut and they collapsed around the room, gasping for breath. Outside they could hear faint sirens from the direction of the officer's club. Casey peered out the window.

"We're gonna have company," he reported. "There's a jeep pulling up. It's Lard."

"I hope you got a good alibi, Pappy." Jim pressed himself sideways against the wall to look out the window. "He looks mad enough to spit nails."

Lard stomped up the outer steps, two grim-faced MPs trailing in his wake. Kate leaned against the wall, her heart pounding from a combination of adrenaline and exertion. The men only looked mildly concerned. She guessed they were used to these sorts of shenanigans.

"I don't know why that man always comes looking for me when there's trouble," Greg mused. He turned to Kate, a slow smile breaking over his face. "Give me the wine, sweetheart."

"Far be it from me to turn down a drink but do you think we really have time for that right now?" Jim asked.

Greg pulled two long-stemmed glasses off the sideboard and splashed the ruby liquid into them.

"Sorry, none for you this time." He handed a glass to Kate. "Drink. And get plenty of lipstick on the rim. I want it to look like we've been here a while."

Eyebrows arched, she complied. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Greg killed the room's overhead light and switched on the desk lamp, plunging the space into a muted twilight. He pulled her to him, gave her hip a familiar squeeze, then jerked down the zipper of her skirt. It slid to the floor, taking the half-slip with it and leaving her in stockings and garters. She froze, eyes gone wide.

"What are you doing?" It was less a question than an exclamation.

"Sorry," he said, "we don't have time to discuss this in committee. You trust me, right?"

While she was still gasping, he partially unbuttoned her shirt and yanked the pins out of her hair so it tumbled loose over her shoulders. Kate grinned and set down her glass. She saw where this was going and got into the spirit of it.

"You're damned lucky I trust you," she said, tugging his tie off and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt.

Casey and Jim stared.

"If we don't have time for a drink, I'm pretty sure we don't have time for this either," Jim muttered.

"What the hell are the two of you looking at?" Greg jerked a thumb at the adjoining bathroom. "Get in there and be quiet." Looking back at Kate, he raked her with a hot glance and grinned. "Damn, you look good in black lace."

She blushed. She was wearing the lingerie Laura had loaned her all those months ago.

A knock sounded on the door as Jim and Casey dove into the bathroom. Greg pulled her into his arms and kissed her, rough and deep. The look she gave him when he pulled back was a blend of amusement and arousal.

"You really are perfect," he said and pushed her onto the edge of the bed.

"I know."

She held his eyes, felt the heat of his touch echo through her body. Of all the units on all the islands in all the war, she'd walked into his. Neither of them spoke.

The knock sounded again.

"Boyington! Open this door! I know you're in there!"

"Keep your pants on, Colonel!" Greg opened the door and Lard blustered in. He glared at Greg, then caught sight of Kate sitting on the bed. She crossed her legs daintily at the ankles and smiled.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant." Lard cast his eyes around the room, taking in the lamplight, the wine glasses on the bedside table and Kate's state of dishabille.

"Boyington!" he started again. "Someone broke into my office earlier this evening, about the same time your men started tearing up the officers' club. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Colonel, I've got better things to do tonight then break into your office." Greg tipped his head toward Kate, who bit her lip and did her best to look modest. She was trembling with barely suppressed laughter. "So if you don't mind, sir . . ."

"How long have you been here, Lieutenant?" Lard addressed Kate.

"At least an hour, sir," she said. She bit the inside of her lip and tried to cultivate an air of chaste blamelessness. Behind Lard's back, Greg winked at her.

Lard turned back to him.

"What about your executive officers – Gutterman and Casey? Where are they?" he snarled.

Greg looked around.

"What? Do you think they're hiding under the bed? I'd guess they're doing the same thing I am."

Lard made a strangled noise. His face was turning an alarming shade of purple. He turned to Kate.

"Are you here of your own free will?"

Kate tugged the gaping fabric of her blouse together.

"Yes, sir."

"I see you didn't take my advice regarding the Black Sheep," Lard blustered. "Mark my words, you'll regret it."

"With all due respect sir, it's a little late for that."

"Are you trying to be difficult, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Kate said politely. "I've been told it comes naturally."

With an inarticulate snarl, Lard stormed out and Greg slammed the door behind him, then fell back against it. He turned his head to meet her eyes.

"Really, Kate? 'I've been told it comes naturally?' " In one stride he lifted her off the bed and pushed her up against the wall, his mouth over hers. She wrapped a leg around him, felt his hand on her thigh, pulling her tight against him.

The sound of throat-clearing came from the bathroom doorway.

"Um, Greg, we don't want to be in the way so if you could just let us out . . ." Jim edged into the room, followed by Casey. Kate didn't even bother to pull her blouse closed this time. The two men were looking anywhere but at her. They slipped out the door without a backward glance. Greg locked it behind them.

Kate stepped to the sideboard, refilled both wine glasses and held one out to him.

"To alibis," she said, lifting her glass. Greg tapped his against it. A single crystal note hung in the room's twilight.

"To alibis."

They drank, not taking their eyes off one another. Greg set both their glasses back on the sideboard. When Kate reached to turn off the lamp, he caught her wrist.

"Leave it on." He cupped her face. "You're beautiful in this light."

She held his eyes in the lamp's soft glow, thinking of all the times he'd stopped her heart with just a look. She wondered if he knew. His mouth curved in a slow smile. Yeah. He knew. She wondered if she dared think she had the same effect on him.

Her pulse quickened as he unfastened the remaining buttons of her blouse, his fingers unhurried. He pulled it off her shoulders and she felt the breeze whisper over bare skin. Heat sparked through her as his hands slid down to her garters and the tops of her stockings.

"Take them off." His mouth was against her neck, his voice a quiet order.

Kate sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her heels. Carefully, she rolled the silk down her legs. She took her time, watching him from under her lashes. She could hear his breathing, steady and deep, in the quiet of the room. She stood and draped her stockings over the chair, then turned to him. She was wearing only black lace and shadows as he traced a finger between her breasts and she shivered, anticipating.

Greg picked her up and lowered her onto the bed. Stretching out next to her, he pinned her hands and took her mouth with deep kisses that burned everything else from her mind. All she could think of was him. Wanting him. Wanting him to take until there was nothing left.

If Kate had controlled the tempo of their lovemaking the first time, she didn't control it now. She didn't even try. The slow firelit sensuality of the beach was replaced by a rush of adrenaline-fueled arousal that had ignited when he'd kissed her before Lard burst into the room.

There was none of the hesitation that had marked their first time together. No questions, no self-consciousness. Each touch, each kiss, was somehow more intimate than the previous one, the blunt strength of his fingers a counterpoint to the softness of her skin. He released her hands and she worked open the buttons of his shirt, hungry for the touch of his skin on hers. He tugged her bra loose and she writhed at the rough heat of his palms against her breasts. When he lowered his mouth to her nipples, she heard herself moaning, lost in the agonizing pleasure of his touch.

Kate abandoned herself to his body. His skin was hot under her lips and the taste of him was intoxicating. Greg paused to pull off the rest of his clothes and the sense of shared hunger built as he stretched against her. She traced the contours of his body, heard his breath quicken, felt him grow even harder under her fingers.

She shifted her hips so he could pull off the damp lace of her panties. His eyes played over her, his gaze as hot as his hands in the lamplight. She was wet and trembling at his touch, her need for him excruciating.

"I want you," she said softly. "I want you now."

He reached into his shaving kit on the bedside table.

"Let me." She took the condom from him, her fingers quick and sure.

Greg rolled onto his back, pulled her onto him and nudged her legs apart with a knee. Kate brushed herself against him, teasing herself almost beyond endurance, then closed her eyes and welcomed the moment of possession as he entered her.

She let her body adjust, breathless, as he claimed her. His hips shifted and she matched his rhythm, her palms braced against the muscle of his chest. He caressed her shoulders, cupped her breasts, then slid his hands to her waist, pulling her down hard onto him. She cried out, lost in the unforgiving demand of his body. Threads of heat started weaving through her, glowing embers flickering into flame.

Greg gripped her upper arms and rolled her onto her back, slowed as she tangled her legs around him, then drove her relentlessly. Her nails dug into his back as almost violent sensation consumed her and his name was on her lips as she came, the pleasure destroying her with its impact.

Trembling as aftershocks of the climax pounded through her, Kate felt power rising in his body, anchoring her to him like a magnet to steel. She wrapped her legs tight as he pinned her to the bed with a final hard thrust, groaning against her neck.

There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, no war, only now. Only this moment in the semi-dark, the smell of the ocean through the window, the lazy thump of the ceiling fan and his heart pounding in time with hers. She trailed her fingers down to his hips, then back to his shoulders. He nipped gently at her throat.

"I meant it. You're perfect," he said quietly.

"I meant it, too. I know."

"Smart ass." He rolled to one side. "Sorry about all of that."

Her mind spun.

"Sorry about all of what?" She could think of absolutely no element of the recent moments that required any sort of apology.

"For using you as an alibi to cover my ass with Lard. That really wasn't what I'd planned for the evening."

"Don't lie to me, Boyington," she said. "I think that was exactly what you'd planned for the evening."

"Well, _that_ , yeah." He propped himself on an elbow, his other hand warm against her hip. "But that wasn't quite how I'd planned to lead up to it."

She laughed.

"Running interference while you're off breaking and entering, being chased through the dark by MPs, nearly running over pedestrians in a jeep, being lectured about my behavior by your commanding officer while I'm sitting in my unmentionables and your execs are hiding in the other room - you have a strange idea of foreplay."

It was his turn to laugh, low and husky and appreciative.

"It worked, didn't it?"

It had more than worked. She lost herself in the lines of his face, felt another thread tighten in the un-explainable connection that wove their lives together. She reached up to touch his face.

"I love you."

He didn't say anything.

"Why? I'm a beat up old fighter pilot."

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You're just . . . right."

He gathered her in his arms.

"I love you, too, Katie."

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name on his lips. He used it so rarely.

"You know I'm nothing but trouble. You told me so yourself."

"I'll take my chances."

 **XXX**

 _There was something about our loving that night that surpassed the simple mechanics of what two people who understand one another's bodies can achieve. That's not to say the simple mechanics weren't mind-blowing but it went beyond that. His power echoed through me on a level that exceeded physical passion, taking me to places I'd never been before. But saying "I love you" was still about as far into the future as either of us wanted to look. - KCC_

 **XXX**

She woke to his hand against the curve of her belly. Outside the window, the first pale hint of dawn tinged the eastern sky. Sleepily, she pressed herself against the solid heat of him, unsure of his intentions. His intentions were immediately apparent.

"Didn't you have enough of me last night," she whispered as he rolled her onto her back.

"I can't get enough of you. Don't you know that by now?"

He pushed the sheet to the side, leaving her bare, and let his touch bring her fully awake. She matched his desire, heat building from the sheer sensuality of waking next to him with nothing between them but a look.

"Anything for you, Boyington."

 **XXX**

 _Making love to a woman who shares your soul means knowing if you're ever separated, neither of you will be truly whole again. - GB_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: In defense of honor**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"Get in there and get out. We'll have enough fuel if nothing goes wrong."

The words hung on the humid morning air as pilots gathered for the mission briefing.

"Yeah, Greg, and what are the odds of that?" Jim lounged against the door frame of the ops shack. "Every time we get near New Ireland, it turns into a big furball. Why should this time be any different?"

"Because this time, you, Casey, TJ and I are gonna go in on the deck and circle around to their back door. You three – " Greg pinned the selected men with a steely look "- no heroics. We get in, bomb the hell out of whatever's down there and get out. We'll be gone before their spotters know we're there.

"Don, you're squadron leader. You'll take the rest of these meatheads upstairs to play. Soon as we make the hit, the four of us will bolt for home. The rest of the squadron will break off and cover our retreat. You guys –" he gestured at the remaining pilots, "will have auxiliary tanks so you can stay at the party a little longer. We won't have that luxury."

Thirty minutes later, Kate watched the Black Sheep take off, her fingers clenched on Meatball's collar. The Seabees had done a fine job of fixing the airstrip while she and the boys were on Espritos and the Corsairs powered down the smooth surface without hesitation. She looked at her watch, then drove back to the base and settled down to wait. She hoped those coordinates were worth the trouble it had taken to get them.

 **XXX**

 _Greg's plan sounded good on the surface. It was bold, straight-forward and didn't take no for an answer, just like him. But I heard the doubt in Jim's voice during the briefing and read the uneasy looks on the boys' faces. Yeah. Well. Never tell me the odds, either. I hated waiting. - KCC_

 **XXX**

The secret the Japanese were guarding so viciously on New Ireland was the mother of all fuel dumps next to a spanking new, enormous airstrip. Tanker trucks and fuel storage tanks were aligned in neat rows stretching the length of the strip, partially screened by trees and camo tarps. From the looks of it, Japan must have been planning an offensive that would clean the Allied forces out of the Solomons for once and for all.

In retrospect, hitting it with multiple planes was overkill. Jim made the first sweep and a strategically released 500-pound payload ignited a chain reaction that might have measured on the Richter scale. Billowing orange sheets of black-tinged flames soared skyward as tank after tank of aviation fuel exploded. Given the volume of fireworks that went off, Greg suspected there was more than just fuel stashed under the camo netting. TJ hit the dump again, for good measure, and Casey and Greg followed through, reducing what was left of the airstrip and base to smoking rubble. The island's airborne defenses were going to have a problem when it came to setting down. Not that there were going to be a lot of them left to worry about it.

Upstairs, the Black Sheep were playing a lethal game of tag that wasn't going well for the Zeroes. As soon as Don got the message from Greg that the objective had been achieved, he ordered the squadron to disengage and cover their retreat. Getting the Black Sheep to pull out of a fight they were winning in spite of the odds was easier said than done. In spite of Greg's orders, Jim had joined the attack after his initial pass over the island and dove into the thick of it, backed up by TJ. After Don yelled at the boys and Greg yelled at them again, they reluctantly disengaged and headed home.

Not surprisingly, due to his unplanned dogfight, Jim's fuel gauge hit E when he was 30 miles out from La Cava. As much as he hated jumping out of a perfectly good plane, he hated being in a perfectly good plane when it crashed even more. He bailed and air-sea rescue had him back to the base almost before the rest of the squadron got there.

Greg and Casey fared slightly better. They were over the island when their birds went on vapor. They pulled deadstick landings and hit the airstrip in a silent rush of power that left Kate biting her lip as she watched.

TJ, oddly enough, got back with enough fuel to land on a wing and a prayer, but that was so typical of TJ everyone had quit trying to figure out how he did anything a long time ago.

The rest of the Black Sheep followed them down safely. Euphoria ran so high at the plan's success that the pilots happily overlooked holes from 20 mm rounds and the general smoking, leaking and misfiring of their birds that had Hutch and Micklin stomping around in a cloud of cigar smoke and swearwords.

Lard came unglued about the unauthorized mission – again – and threatened to court martial Greg – again – but since the 214 had accomplished in one morning what a month's worth of strategic planning had failed to achieve, he couldn't grouse too much.

When Bobby Boyle cheerfully pointed out that Jim had wholesaled two planes in less than two weeks, surpassing even TJ's record, Greg had to step in and stop his executive officer from beating the living daylights out of the shorter pilot.

And with that, life returned to normal at the 214.

Of course, it didn't last.

 **XXX**

 _I'd taken girls for granted in the past but there was no chance of that happening with Kate. We never talked about the future because we both knew the only guarantee we had of anything was the here and the now. At the same time, I couldn't imagine waking up in the morning without her in my life, either. That was probably inviting trouble, but I didn't dwell on it. God knew we had a big enough mess to deal with when someone showed up on La Cava who she never wanted to see again and I never wanted to meet in the first place. - GB_

 **XXX**

Seated at her typewriter a week later, Kate was deep into writing a story exploring the delicate balance between maintaining planes and pilots in equal numbers. Recently, the boys of 214 had suffered a rash of accidents that left the unit in the rare predicament of having more birds than personnel to fly them. While a couple of replacements had already arrived on La Cava, the squadron was still short of being able to launch a complement of 15 planes and if Lard got word of that, the shit was going to hit the fan.

Again. But no one seemed particularly concerned. It happened so often, Kate wondered how many other units existed in the same continual state of balancing exemplary combat performance with a basic lack of anything resembling military decorum. The units she'd covered in the United Kingdom had been nothing like the Black Sheep, but really, the Black Sheep were beyond comparison.

She was typing fiercely, barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt, her hair pulled up in a loose knot and a pencil clenched in her teeth. When Greg slipped into her tent and kissed that curve of exposed neck, she removed the pencil, took a deep breath and said, "Boyington, this story is due in less than two hours and if you don't get out of here and let me finish it, I will throw you out on your ass."

He considered letting her try. He was relatively sure she couldn't but the idea held a lot of interesting potential. The look in her eye held a warning.

He winked and said, "Later." Then he headed to the ops shack to find Casey. They needed to tackle the mountain of neglected paperwork there before it fell over and hurt someone.

 **XXX**

"Looks like Wing Command is sending us another replacement pilot," Casey said two hours later, after they'd chewed through the worst of the reports and requisitions. "Interesting guy – served with the 359th Fighter Group in England, got into a sticky spot with someone's wife, left there under shadowy circumstances, got shifted through some other units and now here he is." Casey held out a file folder.

"Sounds like a typical candidate for the Black Sheep," Greg said, reaching for the folder and flipping it open.

The name hit him like a punch to the gut.

 _Lieutenant Andrew William Butler._

Greg swore under his breath.

" _What was his name?"_

" _Who?" She turned toward him, emotions crossing her face like shadows in firelight._

" _The guy who burned you. Sweetheart, you didn't just leave England, you left the whole northern hemisphere."_

" _Andy." Her voice held no bitterness, just a faint ghost of what had been. "Lieutenant Andrew William Butler . . . tall, dark and handsome . . . Every girl's dream and I got to be that lucky girl."_

"Something wrong?" Casey heard Greg's sudden inhalation of breath and looked up from his stack of requisition forms.

"When does this guy get here?"

Casey shuffled through the papers in front of him.

"He should be on this afternoon's transport."

Greg looked at his watch. It was past 1700 hours. The transport would arrive any minute. Well, that answered the question of whether he'd have time to tell Kate. She'd dropped by earlier to leave the courier's packet with her latest story for Casey to deliver to the transport pilot and to say she was going to the hospital to see Dee. She planned to stay there for evening mess. Butler would be on this rock before Greg would get a chance to tell her he was coming. It seemed wrong to let the man blindside her by arriving on La Cava unannounced but Greg didn't see any way around it.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Something wrong?" Casey asked again.

"Not yet. But there's gonna be."

 **XXX**

 _I wasn't crazy about Kate's old flame dropping into my squadron but I wasn't worried, either. At least not about her wanting to get back together for old time's sake. She'd made it pretty clear how she felt about him. On the other hand, I was a little worried she might try to kill the guy. - GB_

 **XXX**

As usual at the 214, word spread quickly and by the time the transport landed, all of the Black Sheep knew the incoming replacement pilot had a history with Kate. They didn't know the details but from the look on Greg's face and the tension in his shoulders they could guess.

"That him?" Jim leaned against the jeep at the edge of the airstrip, watching as a tall, dark-haired man in dress khakis and aviator shades walked down the steps of the C-47, duffel in one hand.

"Yep." Greg stepped forward. "Might as well get this over with."

"You gonna tell him about . . . you know . . . her and you?"

"Nope."

Greg felt badly enough that Kate was going to walk right into it, unprepared, when she got back to the base. He didn't see any reason why he should give Butler the advantage of knowing how things stood between them. Hell, maybe the man didn't know she was here. Maybe it was one of those randomly crappy hands that life dealt every now and then. Or maybe it wasn't. No one ended up on La Cava by accident.

"Welcome to VMF 214," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Major Greg Boyington."

"Lieutenant Andrew Butler," the pilot returned, shaking his hand. Greg guessed he was in his mid-20s. He had clean-cut features, a lean build and the smug self-assurance of a man who knows women find him attractive.

Butler scanned the base, taking in the tents and mud.

"Heard you boys were a couple of pilots short. Thought I'd sign on and give you a hand."

"Your file says you served in the UK, ever flown a Corsair before?" Greg asked.

"Once or twice. Like I said, Major, you got more planes than you got pilots. Sounds like beggars can't be choosers."

Greg ignored the attitude.

"We'll do a check flight in the morning. In the meantime, you'll bunk with Don." Greg gestured at French. "Show him his quarters then bring him down to the Sheep Pen for a drink so he can meet the boys."

"Sure, Pappy."

"Think he came here to find Kate?" Jim asked, as Butler left with Don.

"I don't think he's here for the mud and malaria." Greg turned the jeep's engine over. "His combat record is excellent, he could have his choice of any unit he wanted, even with that business about messing with somebody else's wife. The Allies are kicking ass in Europe, why come clear out here if he's looking for combat action? Kate's stories are all over the papers. It's common knowledge K.C. Cameron is stationed with the Black Sheep. You bet your sweet aunt he came here looking for her."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." Greg put the jeep in gear. "Let's go have that drink. I'm gonna play this slow. Some people will hang themselves if you give them enough rope."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Jim said as the jeep bounced along the muddy track. "I seen Kate when she's pissed and it ain't pretty."

"She can handle it," Greg said through clenched teeth. He wasn't sure _he_ could handle it, though, and if Butler had come here deliberately looking for her, Jim was right. It wasn't going to be pretty.

 **XXX**

Freshly showered and having enjoyed a decent supper with Dee and Laura, Kate was in a sparkling mood when she walked into the Sheep Pen. With the arrival of several new replacement pilots, she expected a boisterous night ahead as the new personnel were welcomed to the unit.

Greg, TJ, Jim and Casey were playing poker with one of the new boys. Kate felt sorry for the guy. Boyle and French were throwing darts. Bragg was talking to someone she didn't know by the jukebox. It must be another one of the replacements. His back was to her.

"What are you drinkin', Katie?" Bobby Anderson was behind the bar as she approached.

"A beer will be fine, thanks, Bobby." She paused, suddenly aware every eye in the room was on her. What the hell? Had she forgotten to finish getting dressed? She did a quick mental inventory of her person. Nope. Fully clad.

Then he turned from the jukebox where he'd been talking to Bragg and she saw him. The air around her seemed to solidify as the Sheep Pen went eerily silent. The sound of the bottle cap dropping on the bar sounded like a rifle shot as Anderson opened the beer and started to hand it to her.

"Hello, K.C. You look wonderful." Andrew Butler stepped forward, arms opening wide to embrace her.

 _Son of a bitch._

Kate stared, her body gone rigid. In the background, someone cleared their throat nervously.

"What the bloody fucking hell are _you_ doing here?"

Andrew laughed self-consciously and lowered his arms.

"What kind of a welcome is that? We haven't seen each other since Mildenhall. It's been, what, more than six months? You look good, K.C., the South Pacific certainly agrees with you."

Kate turned back to Bobby.

"I changed my mind. Make it Scotch instead." He poured wordlessly and handed her a glass. She tossed it back, slammed the glass on the bar and without looking at him, said, "Hit me again." She knew the alcohol wasn't going to make the man standing in front of her vanish but it gave her time to gather her thoughts.

"I see you still like your whisky." Andrew's laugh fell flat. The Black Sheep shifted uncomfortably. Kate's lips pressed into a hard line.

Silence.

"I said, what are you doing here?" she repeated. Not that she cared.

"I saw your stories and knew you were posted here. When I got the chance to move on, I requested this unit. I thought it would be great to see you again, you know . . ." His words trailed off at the expression on her face.

"You thought wrong." Her voice was steel. "I don't think your wife would approve."

He flinched as if she'd struck him. Kate's gaze didn't waver.

"K.C., honey, please, I never got the chance to explain, you left so quickly." Andrew shifted uncomfortably, aware of the growing contempt on the other men's faces. "It's not like that."

"You never got a chance to explain _what_?" She bit off the words. "That you were married? That you had a wife and baby back in the States while you were professing your undying love for me to get me into bed? If it hadn't been for one of your men finally telling me the truth, I'd have made an even bigger fool of myself."

"It's not like that!"

"Really? I'm sure your wife and little Andy Jr. might have thought differently. What exactly _is_ it like, Andrew?"

"K.C., hon, what we had was – "

"What we had was a lie!" she snarled. Several of the Black Sheep edged further away. "Our whole relationship was nothing more than one big lie so you could get your rocks off. I have nothing to say to you." She spun on her heel to leave, then stopped. She turned back, eyes narrowed with fury. "Except thank you. If you hadn't been such a lying, cheating bastard, I never would have come here and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She stormed across the room to where Greg was sitting at the poker table. She threw a leg over his lap, braced her hands on his chest and kissed him hard. Greg's response was immediate. The heat of his mouth burned away any hesitation Kate had about public displays of affection and she knew without looking that Andrew was staring in disbelief. Greg splayed his hands across her hips, pulling her against him, claiming her even as she marked him as hers. It was a deliciously rough, deep kiss and Kate made sure it lasted long enough to prove her point. When they broke apart, she turned and blew out of the Sheep Pen.

Andrew turned from her retreating form. He looked at Greg, stunned. Greg folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah," he said. "It's like that."

 **XXX**

 _I'd been with this outfit long enough that I'd given up wondering what could happen next. But seriously? Andy Butler just drops in out of the blue and thinks we'll pick up where we left off? That wasn't happening. Now I was living with a man I loved and a man I'd happily push into the blades of a spinning prop if I got the chance. I knew Andy well enough to know what he was like when he didn't get what he wanted. One way or another, this wasn't going to end well. - KCC_

 **XXX**

"I can get rid of him if you want me to."

They were walking on the beach, throwing bits of driftwood for Meatball as the sun melted in the Pacific.

"No." Kate shook her head. She thought it through. "I don't want him here any more than you do but you need every pilot you can get if you're going to keep 15 planes in the air. You pulled off this morning's mission with 12 but Lard could drop in here any day to do a spot check. You know what he's like. Butler will bring the active duty roster back to 15 pilots once you get him and the other temps checked out. If you ship him out, who knows how long it would take to find another pilot and you don't want to attract any more attention from Lard than absolutely necessary."

"That's what I like about you, Cameron, you're always looking out for the greater good."

"I'm looking out for you," she said softly. "The more firepower you have upstairs, the safer you are." She bent to take the stick from Meatball and threw it further down the beach. "The safer you all are."

He squeezed her shoulders.

"He should be out of here in a couple of weeks. Try not to kill him before then. That would generate a lot of extra paperwork."

She sighed.

"Even if I make it look like an accident?"

 **XXX**

 _I was pretty sure she was joking. - GB_

 **XXX**

"I'm not putting you on a mission roster until you get more time in the Corsairs," Greg said, pulling off his gloves and headgear. He'd figured if Kate didn't kill Butler first, he might as well see what the man was made of and had taken the new pilot up for a check flight. Butler had proven himself capable but it was clear he wasn't used to the speed and power of the heavy fighters yet. "They're nothing like the Spitfires you flew in Britain and until you get a feel for what you're doing up there, you'll just be target practice for the Zekes."

Greg could tell his words didn't sit well. He'd read Butler's file. The man was an ace with a sterling combat record and clearly expected to join the upper echelons of the Black Sheep without having to prove himself first. That wasn't going to happen.

"I want you to go up with Casey this afternoon and practice flying wing for him. You'll do the same tomorrow with Gutterman. After I hear their reports, then we'll talk about adding you to a mission."

Butler said nothing. Greg turned away.

"Not surprised she ended up in your bed, since you're the top dog," Butler said. "She never settles for the bottom of the pack. That's our Katherine."

Greg turned back. He knew the younger man was baiting him.

"She's not _ours_ ," he said slowly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "She doesn't belong to me and she sure as hell doesn't belong to you. Now let me tell you something, pal." Eyes blazing, he stepped into Butler's space and the younger pilot took an involuntary step back. "Whatever happened between the two of you is yesterday's news. Don't bring it onto my island and don't bring it into my squadron. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Major," Butler sneered. "Just don't be surprised when she gets tired of you and goes looking for a younger dog."

Greg thought about the time he and Kate had spent on the beach last night after the sun went down. He doubted she was going anywhere.

 **XXX**

Kate made it explicitly clear she wanted nothing to do with Andrew Butler. She rebuffed his continued advances with icy politeness and drew a round of applause one evening in the Sheep Pen when, after repeated overtures, she told him to fuck off.

"She ain't interested in you," Jim said. "Why can't you get that through your thick skull and let it go? All you're doing is stirring up trouble and we do that fine in this unit without any outside help."

Butler's eyes followed Kate as she left the building.

"How'd she get assigned out here, anyway?" he mused. "Bet the brass on Espritos would get real excited if they found out a girl was living on this base."

"Then you'd better hope they never find out." Jim glared at him.

"Uh-huh," Butler echoed. "Real excited."

 **XXX**

 **One week later**

"I don't like him." Jim swirled the Scotch in his glass before taking a sip. He was sitting in Greg's tent while rain dripped off the flaps. "He might have a hot hand in the air but I'm starting to think the guy's Section 8."

Greg nodded his agreement. Andrew Butler had flown two missions with the Black Sheep and with good outcome, at least from a military standpoint. From a personal standpoint, it was another matter.

"I don't like him either. He's obsessed with Kate."

"Don't turn your back on him, Greg. He ain't up to no good."

Greg thought he knew exactly what Butler was playing at. Since Kate made it clear she wasn't interested in a romantic reconciliation, Butler's new approach was if he couldn't have her, he would make sure no one else could, either.

 **XXX**

 _As it turned out, I was right. If we waited long enough, Butler would hang himself. When he did, he damn near took me and Kate with him. - GB_

 **XXX**

"Pappy!" Casey tore into the Sheep Pen, nearly falling over himself in his haste.

Greg was one card away from collecting a relatively high – by La Cava standards – poker pot.

"Yeah, Casey, what is it?"

"Butler!" the younger pilot gasped. "Lard!"

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

"Lard's here," Casey panted. "Just landed. Butler called him."

Greg stiffened.

"Called him? Why?"

"Seems he fed Lard some story about needing to come over here to _'see what was going on.'_ " Casey pulled a face. "No specifics, just stirring the pot. You know what he's like. Lard jumped at the chance. You know what he's like, too."

"Yeah," Greg muttered. "Where are they?"

"Lard's on the flight line right now, talking to Hutch and Micklin about how many planes we have operational."

"That's not a problem. We can put 17 in the air right now." Never mind that a couple of them might be on fire by the time they got there but he was counting on the mechanic and line chief to keep that to themselves. "And we have 15 pilots if everyone is sober. We're good."

"That's not all. Lard said when he's done there, he wants to meet K.C. Cameron face to face and Butler said he'd be happy to do the introductions."

Greg swore under his breath. Of course. That had been the real goal in getting Lard here, wasn't it? To expose Kate for who she was, which would mean the end of her assignment at the 214. And no doubt a scorching disciplinary hearing for him at the very least.

General Moore's voice drifted back to him from months ago.

" _Do you know how many regulations you're breaking by having her here? I hope you know what you're doing."_

Greg glanced at the closed darkroom door where Kate was processing the day's film. His mind raced.

"Is anyone in there helping her?"

"Anderson," Boyle said.

"Perfect." Greg looked at the boys around the poker table. "Who's got civilian clothes that would fit him?"

The other boys looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"I've got some trousers that would fit," TJ said slowly.

"Don't look at me," Boyle said, folding his hand. "I don't have giant-sized clothes."

"I probably got a shirt," Jim offered.

"Go get them." Greg looked out the window. A jeep was approaching. "There's a window into the darkroom on the back side of the building. Stuff them through there."

"What the hell?" Jim chuckled. "We open that window and let light in while Kate's doing film and she'll have our balls."

"If you don't – " Greg glared. His implication was clear. "Get the clothes in there for Anderson. Tell him he's the new and improved K.C. Cameron and tell Kate she's Laura again. Lard doesn't know Anderson. Near as I can remember, they've never met, and if Bobby can pull it off, Butler will just have to choke on it." He swallowed hard. "If not, Lard will have Kate out of here before the sun goes down and it will take him two days to type up all the charges on me."

The boys stared, processing this.

Greg paced the floor. What had Kate been wearing the last time he saw her? It was after evening mess. She'd showered and was in shorts and one of the few decent civilian shirts she owned, probably borrowed from one of the nurses. Thank God. She'd pass as a nurse visiting the base after hours. There was no rule against that and Lard already knew the two of them were . . . well, Lard knew he was involved with Laura Halvorson.

TJ and Jim were looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Greg said. "Damnit. Lard's here already."

He crossed to the opposite side of the Sheep Pen and unhooked the frame holding the screen in the window. Pulling it up on its hinges, he jerked a thumb. "Out." Jim and TJ bailed through the window and Greg hooked the screen back into the frame just as Colonel Lard stepped into the room. Andrew Butler was right behind him, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

"Colonel, what a pleasant surprise," Greg said. He forced a smile. "You should have called first. Really."

"Thought I'd drop in and finally meet K.C. Cameron. I've got a few things to say to him." Lard surveyed the Sheep Pen. "You can't hide the man forever."

"Sit down, Colonel, and have a drink," Greg suggested. "Cameron's in the darkroom right now but he'll be out soon enough."

" _Never thought that you would be, standing here so close to me."_

Anderson's pleasant tenor drifted out of the darkroom.

" _There's so much I feel that I should say."_

Kate sang the next line, then they joined on the chorus, tenor and alto rising in a cheerful, if pleasantly off-key, crescendo. _"Kiss me once, then kiss me twice and kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time."_

Lard looked toward the darkroom. Someone had tacked another board under Kate's sign. The message now read "Please knock if you want to keep your ass in one piece." He grimaced.

"What brings you to our little corner of the war, Colonel?"

Lard eyed Greg.

"Lieutenant Butler here suggested I come over here for a visit and see how this unit is . . . functioning. I've had reports you've been flying at less than combat status but according to your line chief, he's got 17 planes that can get off the strip without falling apart." He snorted. "I suspect he might be stretching the truth a little. Now where's Cameron? I've been trying to meet him for nearly four months."

In the darkroom, Bobby and Kate launched into a duet of a newly popular song titled _"Again."_

" _Again, this couldn't happen again, this is that once in a lifetime . . ."_

Greg swallowed. It had become their song and always reminded him of how he felt when she was in his arms, like nothing could stop them as long as they had each other.

"Who's in there with him?" Lard looked confused.

"Oh, that's Laura," Greg said, quickly cutting across Butler as he started to speak.

"Laura? That nurse from the hospital? What's she doing here?" Lard glared. Beside him, Butler looked confused. He opened his mouth but Greg cut him off again.

"Well, sir, she's really here to see me but she knows a little about photography and helps in the darkroom when Cameron needs an extra set of hands. Can I get you that drink now?"

" _. . . what's more, this never happened before . . ."_

Lard grumbled an affirmative.

"It's clear you've corrupted that girl. I warned her to stay away from you if she knew what was good for her."

"With all due respect sir, she's kind of independent and once she gets something in her head . . ." Greg shrugged.

" _. . . that such as you would suddenly be mine, mine to hold as I'm holding you now . . ."_

Behind the bar, Casey splashed Scotch into a glass and handed it over. Butler opened his mouth to protest but this time it was Lard who cut him off.

"Boyington, I don't know what you're playing at. I didn't come here for drinks and a musical revue," he snarled. "Get Cameron out here so I can meet the man."

Greg knocked on the door.

"Hey, K.C., there's someone here to see you."

"Yo! Be out in a minute!" Bobby returned. He and Kate finished with a heartfelt, _"We'll have this moment forever but never, never again."_

Butler sputtered.

"That's not – K.C. is – "

The darkroom door opened and Bobby stepped out. His hearty greeting drowned out whatever Butler tried to say. He was wearing a pair of slightly wrinkled civilian trousers and one of Jim's tropical print shirts. Turning over his shoulder, he called, "Laura, honey, after you get that processor cleaned, come on out and I'll buy you a drink."

"Sure thing," she called back sweetly.

Greg held his breath.

Extending a hand to Colonel Lard, Bobby beamed.

"K.C. Cameron, Associated Press, West Coast Bureau. So good to finally meet you, sir," he enthused. "Can't thank you enough for pulling the strings that brought me here. This is the most unique assignment I've ever taken."

Greg took a pull at his own drink to hide his surprise. Anderson had affected a cultured accent, somewhere between Fleet Street, London, and Beacon Hill, Boston. The effect was guaranteed to put the listener off balance.

Lard shook Anderson's hand, eyes traveling over his countenance.

"I must say," Bobby continued without missing a beat, "when my editor in Scotland found out I'd accepted this posting, he wasn't at all happy to lose me but I was ready to move on and report from a different part of the war. The boys here have welcomed me with open arms. Why, some days I couldn't feel more like part of the squadron if I was flying missions with them. They've all been so good about cooperating for interviews. Major Boyington has been especially accommodating, there's just about nothing he won't do for the press. Living right here on the base has given me a true first-hand look at the life and times of the Marine Corps fighter pilot in the South Pacific. I'm sure you've read my stories, sir."

Lard was staring, pop-eyed now. Bobby continued his monologue, not giving him a chance to get a word in edgeways.

" – editors in the States are loving it, they can't get enough. Conditions are a little primitive here but I've adapted. In fact, that's where I find a lot of my inspiration." Bobby had a beatific smile on his face as he launched into a description of the next series of stories he planned to write. "I think you could help me with that, sir. Let me just grab a notebook and I've got some questions for you, that is, if you have time. I hope a man with your degree of responsibility might be able to spare a minute for the press."

Kate slipped out of the darkroom and edged toward the door of the Sheep Pen. As she passed Greg, he snagged her elbow and pulled her back.

"Stay a while, sweetheart," he said with a smile. "You're always in such a hurry to get back to the hospital." She arched her eyebrows and sank into a chair next to him. Lard gave her a sweeping glance. She smiled brightly.

"So nice to see you again, Colonel."

"Likewise, Lieutenant." Lard didn't sound like he meant a word of it.

Nearby, Butler was coming to a full boil.

"Now just you wait!" he exploded. "That's not – don't you believe – they're all –"

Then several things happened at once.

TJ accidentally-on-purpose tripped over Meatball and fell across the table, splashing his drink down the front of Butler's shirt, which effectively changed the direction of his rant.

"Son of a bitch, Wiley! Watch what you're doing! You're as big of a menace on the ground as you are in the air."

"Sorry, sorry," TJ muttered. "Here, let me . . ." He turned to grab a bar rag as Casey walked by with three bottles of beer on a tray.

"Oops!" TJ sounded apologetic as he bumped a fist up under the tray and its contents went flying. Two bottles crashed onto the table in a spray of foam and glass. The third landed upside down in Lard's lap.

"What the hell!" Lard stood up, blustering and swiping ineffectively at his beer-soaked uniform. "I've had all I can take of this crackpot outfit! If you didn't have the best combat record in the theatre, I'd have every single one of you up on charges."

He stomped out of the Sheep Pen, still plucking at his wet pants. At the door, he turned and snarled, "Boyington, I'm watching you. Butler, don't waste my time again!"

"You do that, sir." Greg managed to sound respectful. "Come back any time."

The door banged and Lard was gone. Greg could hear him yelling for his pilot to fire up the L5.

"That was the best interview I've ever done in my entire 10-minute correspondent's career," Bobby laughed, sinking into a chair. Greg shoved a bottle of Scotch in front of him.

"Where did you learn to improv like that?" Kate asked, her voice a blend of admiration and relief.

"I studied theater in college," Bobby answered smugly. "Played Polonius in Hamlet my sophomore year." He struck a pose. _"Though this be madness, yet there is method in it."_

"You got that right," Greg said.

Kate laughed out loud but her relief was short-lived. Butler was staring at Greg, fury etched in every line of his face.

"You wait," he snarled. "You just wait. I'll make sure you pay for this. Both of you!"

He turned to leave.

"Hey!"

Greg's tone could have stopped a battalion's charge. He grabbed Butler by the shoulder and spun him around, anger blazing in his eyes.

"I've had about all of you I can take. What the hell were you thinking, dragging Lard over here like that? Kate's one of the Black Sheep. If you'd stop thinking with your dick, you'd realize she's part of what's keeping those birds in the air and your ass in one piece. If Lard found out she's a woman, he'd have her out of here in no time and there goes the precious little leverage we've got on him to maintain our supply line."

"Yeah, Major, and there goes your convenient little slut, isn't that the real reason you want to keep her here?"

Greg swore and this time it wasn't under his breath.

"Look buddy, she's done with you and she's moved on. I don't know what your problem is but it's time you got over it."

"Yeah," Butler sneered. "Yeah, maybe it is."

He threw a roundhouse that Greg saw coming from a mile away. Greg ducked and returned it with a hard jab to the gut that doubled the other man in half.

"If that's how you want to settle it, it's my pleasure."

The Black Sheep scrambled out of the way, sending chairs tipping backward in their haste. Butler charged forward, straight into a right that spun him sideways. He got his feet back under him and went on the defensive as Greg pounded him with a series of quick jabs, driving him back across the room. From the first day Butler had stepped foot on the base, Greg had been afraid it would come to this and now that it had, it was almost a relief.

The younger man had the advantage of height and length of arm but Greg more than evened the odds with skill and speed. He controlled the tempo of the fight, letting his opponent wear himself out, trading blows until Butler landed a swing that sent Greg flying across a table.

Jim grabbed Kate's arm to keep her from piling into the brawl. She shook him off and would have succeeded if TJ hadn't grabbed her other arm. Both men hauled her out of the way.

"He's got this, Kate. I seen him fight guys a whole lot better than this yahoo and come out on top," Jim said. As if proving his point, Greg came up off the table and unleashed a punch that rocked Butler onto the bar. Glasses flew and splintered. TJ reached out with his free arm and snagged a bottle of Scotch before it toppled off.

Jim was right. Greg routinely settled dust-ups between the men and did some housekeeping when off-base personnel got out of line with the nurses but this wasn't the free-for-all brawling so typical of the Black Sheep. As Greg took his opponent's measure, he realized Butler's punches, although powerful, were fueled by blind emotion while his own blows were carefully timed for maximum impact. For every punch Butler landed, Greg returned it two-fold in terms of accuracy and power. This fight had stopped being a matter of discipline after the first couple of punches. He had a point to make and he intended to make it.

Greg threw another hook that crashed the younger man over a chair. It splintered under his weight and sent him sprawling on the floor. Butler clawed his way back to his feet only to be on the receiving end of an uppercut that ricocheted him off the jukebox. With a roar of frustrated anger, he lowered his head and charged. He hit Greg in the chest and the momentum carried both men across the room. They tore the screen door off its hinges as they crashed through it and down the steps onto the dirt outside. The occupants of the Sheep Pen flooded out after them. Jim and TJ kept a firm hold on Kate and she and the men formed a ring around the combatants.

Butler was laying on his back. Greg stood over him, hands on his knees, breathing heavily as blood and sweat dripped in equal proportions.

"Get up, Butler. I'm not done with you."

The other man groaned, rose part way and fell back into the dirt.

"No more," he rasped. "You're crazy. This whole outfit. Crazy. I want a transfer. No woman is worth this."

"That's where you're wrong." Greg turned on his heel and walked away.

 **XXX**

Casey set the steaming basin of water, a bottle of disinfectant and several towels on Greg's desk.

"He's all yours," he said. "Good luck." With a shake of his head he left.

Kate unscrewed the bottle and tipped a stream of disinfectant into the basin.

"There you go again, defending my honor," she said drily. She dipped the corner of a towel in the bowl and wiped at the blood on Greg's cheek.

"You bring it out in me. Ouch! That stings. What did you do, pour Scotch in there? I'd rather have mine straight out of the bottle." He peeled what was left of his shirt over his head and leaned back in the chair. Kate turned his face toward the light.

"No. Sit still. Honestly, you're going to feel worse before you feel better." She dabbed at the abrasions on his face, noticing bruises already starting to bloom across his torso. Andrew Butler would be feeling ten times worse, she thought, and she was damn sure none of the Black Sheep were tending his injuries. "I don't need to haul you to the hospital to have Doc Reese make sure you didn't crack your hard head, do I?"

"No. I'll be fine."

She bent and kissed his brow. He flinched.

"Ouch."

Kate rolled her eyes.

"That didn't hurt.

"It hurt."

"Are you trying to difficult?"

"No, sweetheart, it comes naturally. You should be used to it by now."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. She felt him wince as she laid her head against his chest but when she tried to pull back, he didn't let go.

"Damn man. Stop being so stoic."

They sat without speaking, the sound of his heartbeat steady in her ear, his hands warm around her waist.

"Nothing with you is ever going to be easy, is it?" she whispered.

"That's what you love about me. You wouldn't know what to do if it was easy."

"I'd like to try, just once." She really couldn't imagine anything beyond the immediacy of what they shared now – each other, here on the base, surrounded by the boys, the missions, the war.

"Kiss me."

"I did. You said it hurt."

"It doesn't hurt everywhere." His eyes were hot blue and his mouth turned up in a slow smile.

Kate answered that smile, feeling it ignite both her body and her soul as she brushed her lips over his.

Here we go again, she thought, and her mind soared with the joy of him.

 **XXX**

 _It was going to be a long time before it got any easier. If we'd been able to look into a crystal ball that night and see what was coming in a couple of months, we might have done a few things differently but life doesn't work that way. In the end, it didn't matter. I'd given him my heart and nothing else really mattered. - KCC_

 **THE END**

 **BUT WAIT, MAYBE IT ISN'T!**

Editor's note: This is where the original version of _Front Page News_ ended. I felt like I could have gone on writing it forever, but geez, a story has to stop somewhere.

Then I wrote _Autumn 1945,_ a shorter story that followed Kate and Greg through the end of WWII. The first part of it is Kate's story alone because no one knew where Greg was after he was shot down on Jan. 3, 1944. And Kate has plenty to keep her busy while she's trying to find him.

 _Autumn_ was its own stand-alone story – beginning, middle and end – but it completed the saga that _Front Page News_ started and I've decided to include it as part of the FPN re-write.

This project has already gotten insanely long and I can't stand loose ends so what are a few more weeks? Thanks for hanging on with me. -MW


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: Gone**

 **Two months later**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 **Jan. 3, 1944**

She was radiant.

Kate always sparkled with an aura of joie de vivre, no matter what she was doing, but Greg thought it had intensified lately. There was an inner light to her smile, a darker sparkle to those gray eyes, an overall vibrancy that radiated an element beyond high spirits. A few things had crossed his mind when they were together last night but neither of them had been in the mood to stop and talk.

Even now, as she sat at the side of the room, sipping coffee and chatting with TJ before the mission briefing, she stood out amidst the squadron's sea of flight suits and testosterone. She was wearing a USMC-issue T-shirt and cut-off fatigues that highlighted her curves in a way the Corps had never intended.

Her sun-streaked hair was braided over one shoulder, curls already escaping to frame her face in the humidity of the tropical dawn. Her cheeks were brushed with soft color and there was an undefinable _something_ about her that morning that made her even more vibrant than usual. She simply glowed.

Those spectacular legs were crossed demurely at the ankles, like she was wearing a tailored suit from some exclusive Fifth Avenue boutique and sitting in a press briefing in the West Wing. She looked up from her notebook and a quiet smile quirked the corners of her mouth as if she could tell what he was thinking. She was incredible on so many different levels. What had started as a purely physical attraction had grown over the months to . . . this. This unidentifiable feeling that wove itself around him even when they weren't near one other. This all-encompassing need to have her in his life that went beyond the time they shared in the dark. She was light and energy and everything that kept the demons of this war at bay. He loved her and she knew it but they never talked about the future. It seemed like tempting fate.

He wrenched his mind back to the day's mission, yet another in a string of fighter sweeps over the Japanese stronghold of Rabaul.

"All right you meatheads, listen up . . ."

 **XXX**

 _If I'd known what was going to happen that day, I would have made sure we talked about the future. There was more at stake than I ever imagined. – GB_

 **XXX**

Kate was ecstatic.

And stunned. And a little scared. But mostly incredibly happy in a way she'd never dreamed possible.

She hadn't seen this coming. She'd always known it was possible but there were so many other things on this assignment that had been life changing, she hadn't given it much thought.

Until it was impossible to ignore.

She had to tell Greg and it couldn't wait much longer.

She hadn't told him yet because she hadn't been sure. Once she _was_ sure, she'd been overwhelmed by a confusing tangle of emotions that had left her, for the first time in recent memory, totally unsure of what to do.

She wondered if he already knew.

He was so intimately familiar with her body, he had to have noticed the changes. Last night she thought his fingers had lingered on her breasts, teasing her agonizingly sensitive nipples to new heights of pleasure. He'd rested his hand ever so briefly on her lower belly, over the slight swelling that was imperceptible to anyone but her, before sliding it lower. She hadn't said anything because God knew that was the last thing she wanted him thinking about when he got in that plane this morning.

There hadn't been time for words last night, anyway, just the hot demand of their bodies, his mouth crushed over hers to keep her from crying out at the explosion of their mutual release. Making love in an open sided tent on a front area Marine fighter base was risky business, even after dark, but risk had become the trademark of their relationship. Nothing was conventional where he was concerned. She'd known it from the first time she set eyes on him, six months ago, but when he picked her up out of the mud that night, she never thought it would come to this.

She would tell him today, after the mission and the de-brief, when they finally had time alone together. And then she had no idea what would happen.

 **XXX**

Kate walked to the flight line with the men like she'd done nearly every day for the last six months, camera around her neck, exchanging greetings and jokes with the pilots.

Jim slung an arm around her shoulders.

"You look lovely this morning, darlin'," he said. "I think the water here agrees with you."

"Only if it's mixed with Scotch," she said airily.

Greg came up on her other side and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Sweetheart, how do you manage to look so good in the morning?"

"Must be the company," she said, dodging a mud puddle. "God knows it's not the food. Or the luxury accommodations."

Jim snorted.

"More like the sleeping accommodations."

"Shut up, Gutterman." Kate's voice held no heat. By now, the pilots' ribald teasing rolled right off her. There were no secrets at the 214. Well, maybe one.

Up and down the flight line, engines coughed and smoked as cylinders caught. Pilots and mechanics yelled back and forth, making last minute adjustments as they prepped for the mission.

"Stay out of the way, Cameron," Greg said, peeling off as they reached his bird. He swatted her lightly on the hip.

"You know I'm not good at that." She returned his grin. It was an old joke, one they'd shared for months. She knew he meant it. He knew she did, too.

She never told him to be safe or any of the other admonitions that were little more than empty words. All the " _I love you's"_ and " _Good hunting's"_ in the world wouldn't guarantee his safe return. It was as if they didn't voice their concerns out loud, no harm would come to him.

She reached out and squeezed his hand, pressed it briefly over her heart. He turned to her, the early sun highlighting his face. It was the picture of him she always carried in her mind - dark hair tumbling over his forehead, eyes hot blue, a half-vexed, half-laughing look on his face as he tried to talk her into something they both knew she wasn't going to do.

"Then at least stay out of trouble until I get back."

"No promises, Boyington. I'll be waiting."

He vaulted into the cockpit.

"Clear!"

Hutch pulled the wheel chocks free as the Corsair's powerful engine roared to life and the massive 13-foot-diameter prop kicked up a cloud of dust. Greg swung the plane off the line and taxied toward the strip.

 **XXX**

 _I went back to that moment in my mind every day for the next 18 months and wondered, what if I'd told him sooner? Would it have made any difference? Or were our futures already carved in cosmic stone and nothing we did could change it? I would never know. - KCC_

 **XXX**

Four hours later, Jim led what was left of the Black Sheep home. They went on radio silence when they entered La Cava airspace.

"I'll tell her when we land," he said, his voice tight. "The rest of you keep your traps shut."

 **XXX**

Kate was waiting with Hutch as the squadron returned, both of them counting planes. They were four short, a full quarter of the aircraft that had gone up that morning. Kate waited, shifting uneasily, as the men milled around after landing, talking quietly among themselves without the usual jocularity that followed even the roughest mission. A few glanced in her direction, then looked quickly away.

Jim rounded the wing of his bird. He froze in place, his eyes locked on hers, and she knew. Without a word, she knew.

 _No._

Jim's steps were slow as he approached her. An icy feeling of dread crept between her shoulder blades as her eyes searched behind him, quick, panicked glances at the empty sky.

 _No!_

"Katie." Jim reached out and took her upper arms. She saw him swallow hard.

"Greg was shot down over Rabaul Harbor." His eyes were dark with pain, his voice hoarse, as if he were forcing the words from somewhere far, far away.

"No," she whispered, finally vocalizing the fear that crept up her spine to squeeze her heart. She stood, paralyzed. "How?"

"We were outnumbered, worse than usual." Jim found his voice. "Greg radioed he'd been hit but none of us saw it. There was so much smoke. Visibility was horrible. We think he jumped clear – Anderson thought he saw a chute. They got Ashmun, too, and Flynn and Carson." His voice broke with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. This had to be a mistake, she thought. Any minute now, his bird would break over the rugged line of hills that ringed the northern part of the island and he'd come sweeping down onto the strip with all the flair and arrogance she loved.

The sky remained empty. Insects droned in the heat. She stared at the cloudless blue until her eyes burned. The full impact of Jim's words slammed into her chest with crushing weight. Greg was gone.

Her knees buckled and she stumbled. Jim caught her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her upright as the world spun out of control. This wasn't happening. Greg couldn't just not come back. She fought the tears burning against her eyelids, felt the earth falling out from under her feet. Dizziness and nausea swept over her and she struggled to regain her control. She bit her lip hard, let the pain ground her.

She'd known this could happen. They both did. She'd known it from the first time the words "I love you" passed her lips but it was something she kept locked firmly in the back of her mind. If she didn't think about it, it would never happen.

Only it had.

She pushed back from Jim and wiped the tears away with the heels of her hands.

"What happens now?" She straightened her shoulders defiantly.

"We wait."

 **XXX**

 _I wanted to be alone, to let the numbness fill me until I couldn't feel the pain but neither Jim nor Casey would let me be. I could tell they didn't want to be alone either, so we all sat up until dawn, relying on each other to keep from shattering in a million pieces. - KCC_

 **Jan. 6, 1944**

They waited.

No word came. The War Department and the Marine Corps hit dead ends with their inquiries. The Japanese denied any knowledge of Greg's existence. They would neither confirm nor deny picking up downed pilots at those coordinates. The area where he'd gone down was deep in enemy waters and there was no chance of an American search and rescue team going in. Colonel Lard said Greg and the other three men were officially listed as missing in action and assured the Black Sheep that the United States would continue to do everything possible to secure their whereabouts.

Which translated to more waiting.

Three days later, Jim went to Kate's tent. She was laying on her bunk, staring at the ceiling with Meatball curled in the crook of her arm. The dog had moved in with her, sharing the mutual loss. Jim thought of all the times he'd walked into Greg's tent and seen the dog doing the exact same thing, providing unwavering companionship as only a dog can.

"Hey." He stepped through the door. "How you doin', Katie?"

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Her hair was neatly braided, her clothes as clean and tidy as they ever were but he thought she had become somehow two-dimensional, the depth and meaning gone from her life. She'd been pale but dry-eyed since that morning on the flight line. Her rigid self-control was frightening, he thought, an un-breachable wall holding reality at bay. He'd expected her to break down, to scream, bawl, throw things or get drunk like the other men. She hadn't. Just this frightening, fragile calm. If he touched her, he thought she might shatter.

"I'm okay."

He'd never seen anyone who was less okay. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Casey got Lard on the horn. They've changed his status to missing, presumed dead," he said quietly.

"I deal in facts, not presumption." Kate's tone was softly defiant. Her gaze didn't waver. "That's the first thing they teach you in journalism school. I want hard proof before I'll believe it."

It gnawed at Jim's guts but he wouldn't string her along with false hope. She was strong enough to hear it and she needed to hear it so she could move on. They were all going to have to move on and soon.

"He's gone, Katie. He ain't comin' back."

 **XXX**

 _I knew that's what Jim believed and I didn't blame him for it. He'd seen too many boys who never came back. Why should it be any different this time? It wasn't written anywhere that Greg Boyington was immortal. The men could believe what they wanted. But so could I. - KCC_

 **XXX**

The next day, Jim and Casey helped her pack Greg's personal effects. There wasn't a lot when it came to worldly possessions in a war zone. Uniforms, flight suits, fatigues. His shaving kit and typewriter. Boxing gloves. A few pictures – a print of the photo Kate had taken on her first day on La Cava, the one of Greg, Jim and TJ walking away from the camera. The shot Anderson had taken of the two of them, capturing the raw emotion after their first night together.

"I'll take those," she said quietly. The numbness had faded, replaced by a steely resolve that clamped down on the pain, denying it. She refused to acknowledge the sucking black abyss of grief that threatened to open under her feet. She didn't have time for it. Not now.

They worked in silence, adrift in loss. The Black Sheep would be taken down soon, Casey told her. After losing four planes over Rabaul and a handful of others barely making it home, they couldn't get 15 planes in the air no matter what magic Hutch and Micklin worked. They couldn't make combat status and in spite of Jim stepping up to hold the squadron together by threats and something that actually looked like leadership, Lard wouldn't miss the opportunity to put an end to them. The fight against the Japanese was shifting from land bases to carrier-based squadrons that could drive deeper into enemy territory. It was rumored La Cava would be evacuated by the end of the month. Dee told her they were already starting to evac the hospital, moving patients and personnel to the larger Navy hospital at Espritos. Dee would be leaving soon, too.

Kate picked up a shirt, lifted it to her face and inhaled. Aftershave and soap and tobacco. A fist clenched around her heart and she blinked back the tears. He was alive. Somewhere. She knew it.

When the tent was empty, Jim uncorked the bottle sitting on the now barren desk. He poured and handed glasses to Kate and Casey.

"To Black Sheep One." Jim lifted his glass.

"To Pappy," Casey said.

"To Greg," she echoed, touching her glass to the men's. She held it, then set it down without drinking.

"You all right?" Jim looked at her closely. "I never seen you turn down a drink."

Unconsciously, Kate dropped a hand to her lower belly. It was a fleeting gesture, the briefest of touches, but both men caught it, saw the soft, introspective look that passed across her face.

"I'm not very thirsty," she said, looking away.

Dust motes drifted on the sunshine slanting into the tent.

"Katie?" Jim's voice was low. "This ain't none of my business, but are you . . . ?"

Kate met his eyes. She'd never figured Jim for the sensitive, observant type. Maybe the time he'd been spending with Sarah was good for him.

"Yes." The word hung on the air, its implications echoing beyond three simple letters.

Silence.

Casey rose and pulled her into a brotherly hug.

"Um, congratulations . . . oh, hell . . ." He fell silent.

Kate bit her lip. Jim reached out and squeezed her hand.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm okay. Really." If she said it often enough, it would be true.

"Did Greg know?" Jim asked.

"I hadn't told him yet." Casey let go of her. She held the crumpled shirt close to her chest. "But I think he knew."

None of them spoke for a long while. Then Jim said, "That would have made him happy. He told me once he wanted to have a family. . . after the war and everything."

"He's going to have one," Kate said. Her voice was silk over steel. "And when this war is done, we'll be waiting for him."

If she saw the men exchange a glance, she ignored it.

 **XXX**

 _There wasn't time to grieve. Or maybe I just refused to do it. There were too many things to think about and too many decisions to make. Jim and Casey had my back. We all knew I had to get out of the Solomons and back to the States. Living in a war zone was fine when I only had myself to think about but that had changed. The boys put their heads together and started planning, and I wrapped up my grief and stored it away until I could deal with it later. But I could feel in my heart that grieving would be a waste of time. Greg wasn't dead. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 8, 1944**

"Where do you want these?" Dee indicated the trousers she'd folded.

"Just put them over there. I don't know if they're worth keeping." Kate was having a hard time thinking about pants.

The look on Dee's face said she thought they belonged in the base's burn pit but she put them down on the bunk and looked around. Kate pointed at a haphazard pile of clean shirts.

"Those next."

Halfway through the process of packing up the disaster area of a tent she'd called home for the last six months, Kate wondered if any of it mattered. She could walk out of here tomorrow and let the jungle reclaim the base and nothing would change. And that was coming dangerously close to happening.

The 214 was in chaos. The Black Sheep hadn't flown a mission since losing Greg and the three other pilots five days ago. The men were on edge, caught between grief and the uncertainty of their own futures.

One of Kate's trunks sat with the lid open, the interior a jumble of clothing, notebooks and miscellany. Dee picked up a shirt and rolled it neatly before tucking it next to the trousers. They didn't speak as Kate began packing camera gear. She secured a lens in a leather case and snapped the strap closed.

"Will the AP reassign you somewhere in the South Pacific or will you go back to Europe?" Dee asked. With Greg listed as presumed dead and the future of the squadron in jeopardy, Kate's assignment here was done. "Isn't the press corps liaison's office on Rendova? Maybe you could be stationed there, near Sarah. That would be –"

Kate turned to her friend, her fingers clenched on a canister of film.

"Dee," she said softly, "I'm pregnant."

Dee froze. The shirt she'd been folding slid from her fingers as her eyes dropped to her friend's slender waistline, then back to her face.

"I should have told you sooner. But the time was never right and . ." Kate's voice shook and she willed it to stop, forced the tidal wave of emotion back down. "And I hadn't even told Greg."

"Oh, honey." Dee stepped forward and gripped Kate's hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Her tone left no room for doubt.

"How sure?"

"Two months, give or take."

"You couldn't just be late?"

"No." Kate shook her head. "That's what I thought when I missed the first month. Not a big deal. Sometimes that's how it goes. When I missed the second month, I sat down with a calendar and did the math. God, Dee, I even know when it happened." She paused, biting her lip. "We were usually careful, but not every time."

Dee didn't say anything and Kate continued.

"It was the night of that awful fight in the Sheep Pen, when Andrew Butler dragged Lard over here and then he and Greg got into it and afterward, well, I guess you can figure it out." She broke off, squeezed her friend's hands and pulled free.

"And this morning I had to run out of the mess to barf. Again. No one thought anything about it, since TJ was right next to me, doing the same thing. Only he was hung over and I'm . . . ." She left the sentence unfinished as she settled the lens case into an equipment trunk.

"What are you going to do?"

Kate looked up, a spark of her old humor in her eyes.

"You're the nurse – do I need to explain it? In about seven months I'm going to have a baby."

"And they say I have a smart mouth." Dee abandoned any pretense of folding clothes. "Are you going back home?"

"Are you kidding? To Ethel and Clarence?" Kate named her strict Lutheran aunt and uncle who bought her parents' farm after their death. "If I showed up on their doorstep pregnant and unmarried, they'd lock me in the attic." She lowered the lid on the equipment trunk and flipped the latches closed. Her smile faded.

"I'm resigning as an AP correspondent. I can't . . . I can't do this anymore." She began unpinning prints from a board over her desk – her, standing with the Black Sheep, their arms around each other's shoulders. She looked as sweaty and disheveled as the rest of the men. With Greg, Meatball sitting between them. With Hutch and Micklin. "Don cabled his father and he offered me a position in the newsroom at his paper in Philly. I'll work there until the baby comes."

"Does he know about the baby? Mr. French, I mean."

"Yeah. I told Don. I thought his father needed to know before, well, it starts to be obvious. Jim and Casey know, too. Those three are the only ones I've told. Jim kinda figured it out on his own. Oh, hell, the rest of the boys probably know by now. You know how well keeping secrets works around this place."

Don had discreetly told his father Kate would only be able to work for about six months before needing a leave of absence. His father assured him that wouldn't be a problem. He was more than willing to help the girl whose writing had provided a lifeline of support to his son's squadron at a critical time. Plus, having K.C. Cameron in his stateside newsroom was worth any price tag.

"Oh Katie." Dee pulled her into a hug. "I can't imagine you with a baby. How can I help?"

Kate hugged her back, treasuring the reassuring strength of Dee's embrace. Then holding her at arm's length, she said firmly, "That makes two of us. What I know about babies doesn't go much beyond what it takes to make one." She turned and began pacing restlessly. "What I _need_ is to find out what happened to Greg. Either he's a POW or he's . . . gone." She couldn't say _dead_. "I need to know either way." She stopped for a minute before resuming the pacing. "I need get settled in the states before this baby comes. Once he . . . she? . . . gets here, I'll figure it out from there. I don't know if you can help me with any of that."

Dee shook her head.

"Probably not."

"Some friend you are," Kate said, but she was smiling. She sat down on her bunk. "He's alive, Dee. I know he's alive. This - " she rested her hand on her stomach "- we never meant for this to happen but now that it has, I'm glad. And we'll just wait until his daddy comes back." Kate bit her lower lip. Her voice wobbled and she took a deep breath. "Because I don't know what else to do."

 **XXX**

 _I could tell Dee thought I was crazy. She thought Greg was gone for good, too, but she wasn't about to tell me that. You know what they say, don't argue with a crazy person. That goes double when the crazy person is pregnant. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 11, 1944**

None of the Black Sheep were surprised when Colonel Lard disbanded the 214. The war was shifting. The hospital was empty, the nurses and patients moved to Espritos. Kate had hugged Dee and the other nurses good-bye the previous day. She wondered when she'd see Dee again.

Jim and TJ would leave soon to join VMF 149, the Fighting Gryphons, on Rendova. At least Jim would be near Sarah, Kate thought, since her sister was stationed at the Army base there, orchestrating the use of military working dogs. Casey accepted an administrative post in General Moore's office on Espritos. French was transferred to Henderson Field at Guadalcanal to serve as a flight instructor. The rest of the Black Sheep went into the pilot's pool.

Kate's last few days with the squadron were a chaotic whirlwind of packing and preparation. There was no news about Greg. Lard stopped taking Casey's calls, let alone returning them. Even General Moore was unable to provide any information. Missing, presumed dead, was the only thing anyone would say. Kate's angry frustration grew, subduing her grief as if her body couldn't handle both at the same time.

Casey finessed some paperwork to list her as Greg's beneficiary.

"It's what he'd want," he said, blowing on the ink to dry the forged signature.

Kate hugged him. The men's support had been immeasurable in the last week. They loved her like a sister and knew her loss might have been even more devastating than theirs. If they knew about the baby, they didn't say anything. Apparently she'd finally found a topic they considered off limits.

"Thank you," she said, wiping her eyes. "But I won't need his benefits. He's coming back."

"I hope so, Katie," Casey said. "If anyone could survive, it would be Pappy."

 **XXX**

 _I think Casey was just agreeing with me because he didn't know what else to say. Crazy pregnant lady and all that. Dee had taught him well. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 12, 1944**

Kate left Vella La Cava much like she'd arrived, dressed to the nines and with no idea what her future might hold. The squadron gathered to see her off. She knew she'd never see most of them again. They gave her addresses and phone numbers scrawled on bits of paper, names of loved ones in the States who would be delighted to help her with anything she needed.

"We want you to take Meatball," Casey said, pressing the dog's leash into her hand. "None of us can keep him now. We decided he should go with you."

Kate looked down at the bull terrier. Someone had taken it upon themselves to give the dog a bath and he was in an unusual state of sparkling whiteness. Meatball thumped his tail in the dirt and eyed her neatly tailored suit, which was borrowed, like all the rest of her traveling clothes.

"Don't you even think about jumping on me," Kate said. "If we're going back to civilian life, you're going to need better manners."

Jim hugged her tightly.

"I'll write as soon as I hear anything," he said. "With Casey in Moore's office and me still in the theater, we'll keep the pressure on the brass."

"He's alive, Jim. I know he's alive and they'll find him." Her eyes were full of conviction. It had become her mantra because the alternative was unthinkable. Jim kissed her on the forehead.

"I hope you're right, Katie. If you need anything, if I can do anything for you, just let me know."

"Tell Sarah I'm sorry I had to leave without talking to her." Kate was brimming with frustration but her sister had been out with patrols and unreachable every time Kate tried to contact her. She couldn't wait any longer. She'd take a flight from Espritos to Pearl Harbor that afternoon, then back to the States.

"Do you want me to tell her about . . . you know?" Jim lowered his eyes briefly to her midsection.

"Yes," Kate said. "Please. I want her to know and she needs to hear it firsthand, not in a letter. Tell her I'll write as soon as I'm settled. Here." She stretched up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Give her a kiss from me, the next time you see her. You can translate it any way you like." She smiled. "I know you will."

"Take care of yourself, darlin," Jim said. "And the . . . um . . . little lamb, too."

Kate smiled. Honestly. The men weren't shy when it came to discussing their conquests with nurses but she'd found in the last few days that any mention of pregnancy or babies made them distinctly nervous. She was in complete sympathy. It made her nervous too, although once she got done throwing up in the mornings, she felt great.

She turned and walked up the steps onto the plane, Meatball at her side. On board, she settled herself on the narrow seat. The dog sprawled by her feet.

"We're in a damned airplane again," she muttered. "When we get back to the states, I'm never getting in another damned airplane again. If we can't get there by car or rail, we're not going."

 **XXX**

Jim watched her go, a slender figure with a defiant set to her shoulders and a bull terrier at her side. If anyone could keep Greg alive through sheer force of will, he thought, it would be her.

 **XXX**

 _I watched Vella La Cava fade as the plane climbed. The greens and browns of the island blurred, then vanished completely under the clouds and it was like the last six months had been a tale out of a storybook. I was headed back to the States and a new life, whether I wanted it or not. But I still had one thing to do before I left the South Pacific. - KCC_

 **XXX**

 **Espritos Marcos, Rear Area Allied Command**

"Sir, K.C. Cameron is here to see you," Margaret announced. Colonel Lard looked up from his desk, surprised.

"Cameron? What's he want? The 214 is done, I'm surprised he's still around."

"He, um, didn't say, sir, just asked to speak with you."

"Very well. Send him in."

"Yes, sir." The dark-haired secretary hesitated in the doorway. "Um, sir?"

"Yes, Margaret, what is it?"

She paused, a puzzled look on her face, then came to a decision.

"Nothing, sir. I'll send Cameron in."

Lard was intent on the reports in front of him when heels clicked briskly into his office. He wondered what Margaret wanted now. The whole base had been in upheaval, what with evacuating La Cava and the other mayhem in the theater, and his secretary was positively distracted these days. The door closed with a decisive click. Lard looked up, did a double take.

It wasn't Margaret.

The girl standing in front of him was wearing a smartly tailored pale blue civilian jacket over a crisp white blouse and slim skirt. A stylish hat perched atop unruly curls. The correspondent's band on her left arm marked her as a member of the press corps. With a jolt of recognition, he stuttered, "Lieutenant Halvorson?"

The girl stepped forward. She dropped a business card on his desk blotter. He picked it up slowly and stared at the name set in Times New Roman on white cardstock.

"K.C. Cameron, Associated Press. I'll be leaving the Solomons shortly, Colonel, and I thought we should finally meet." She extended her hand.

Lard gaped. He rose and mechanically shook the proffered hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip firm.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss . . . Cameron."

"There's nothing not to understand," she said briskly. "I'm Katherine Christine Cameron. K.C. I've spent the last six months embedded with the Black Sheep. I'm sure you've read my coverage." Her smile was an open challenge.

Lard was speechless. There was no way this creature could have lived with Boyington and his band of pirates for 24 hours, let alone six months. He stared, then opened his mouth and managed to produce words.

"But . . . I met . . . I see . . . Do you mean to say you've been living on La Cava with the Black Sheep since June without me knowing?"

"Yes, sir. And you knew I was there because you assigned me." She smiled. The effect was staggering although he saw a shadow of pain flicker in her eyes. "Since I never got a chance to say hello when I got here, it seems only right that I say good-bye. I'm taking a flight to Pearl at 1300, headed back to the states."

"But when I met . . . how did . . . why . . .?" Lard gulped and got his feet under him. "Young lady, do you know how many rules you've broken? Fraternization between the sexes, impersonating a Naval officer, interfering with –"

"I believe you assigned me to live on the base with the squadron," she interrupted, her face guileless.

"I didn't know you were . . . were a woman!" Lard spluttered.

"That hardly matters now, Colonel. I think it's clear I followed my orders as they were issued. I gave the Black Sheep six months of press coverage and told their stories to the folks back home. Wasn't that the idea? None of them had a problem with it."

Lard stared at her. He just bet the Black Sheep hadn't had a problem with it. He was starting to see exactly how this slip of a girl had lived with them for that long. He thought back to the times he'd met her in the officer's club on Espritos, when she was wearing a Navy uniform. And the night he'd encountered her in Boyington's room, when she'd been wearing considerably less of that uniform. She was just as much of a renegade as they were.

"Before I leave, I need your word that you're doing everything possible to find Greg." She swallowed and Lard saw the professional façade waver for the first time. "Major Boyington."

"I can assure you, Miss Cameron, the United States government is doing everything within its power to locate Major Boyington," Lard said. His tone was placating.

"Then they need to try harder." Her words were clipped. "Men don't just vanish. Someone out there knows something." She pulled a typewritten sheet of paper from her handbag and gave it to him.

"Here's my contact information in the States. I'll be employed at the Philadelphia Enquirer through mid-summer. My sister is Sergeant Sarah Cameron, stationed with the 37th Infantry on Rendova. Captain James Gutterman will also be on Rendova with VMF 149 and Lieutenant Larry Casey is in General Moore's office right here on this base. They will all be in regular contact with me. I can be reached directly at the phone number and mailing address listed here. I want to know as soon as you find out anything, Colonel. Do I make myself clear?"

Lard was not used to being addressed in such a tone by anyone, let alone a woman and a civilian at that.

"Very." His face had a pinched look.

"Good. I have a plane to catch." She turned to the door.

"Miss Cameron," he said, "is there any reason you're so interested in Boyington's whereabouts? Your assignment here is done. I'm sure you're ready to move on."

The girl turned to face him across the desk.

"Because in seven months, he's going to be a father." Her gray eyes were cool, her face once again a perfect mask of composure.

Lard couldn't hide his jolt of surprise. That was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

"A father?" He repeated.

"Yes, Colonel. It happens." One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile. She didn't look the least bit repentant.

Lard made a last ditch attempt at gaining control of the conversation.

"You do understand that when a pilot's been missing as long as he has, the odds of finding him alive are –"

Fury rose in her eyes. Lard could see it swirl around her like a whirlwind and was glad there was a very solid desk between the two of them.

"Never tell me the odds!" she snapped, biting off each word.

"Calm down, miss." Lard's tone was placating again. "I'm sure -

"Do _not_ tell me what to do! You do your job and I'll do mine."

Lard took an involuntary step back. Fury rippled off her in waves. Before he could reply, she turned and strode out of his office, slamming the door in her wake.

Lard wiped a hand over his face and sank back into his chair. How many times had he watched Boyington storm out of this office in exactly the same manner? Good lord but the two of them had been made for each other.

 **XXX**

 _The worst thing about being held captive wasn't the loss of freedom, although that grated on me plenty. It wasn't the pain of my injuries or the interrogations or not knowing what was going to happen next. It was knowing Kate was alone. I didn't doubt for a minute that she could take care of herself but she was going to have more than herself to think about. - GB_


	25. Chapter 25

_Editor's note: I've decided to let Kate tell this part of her story so the narrative's point of view bounces around a little bit.  
_

 **Chapter 25: Waiting**

 **Jan. 18, 1944, Philadelphia, Pa.**

To say returning to civilian life was awkward was an understatement. After six months on the fighter base, Philadelphia felt like another planet. Having round-the-clock electricity that didn't rely on generators was a luxury. Pressurized hot water was an insanely guilty pleasure, not to mention the privacy of having a bathroom to myself. A bed with a mattress in a house with walls was the height of decadence.

I would have traded it all in a heartbeat to be back on La Cava with Greg.

Harold and Caroline French insisted I move into one of the guest rooms at their house. Even though it was huge, their home was warm and welcoming and I appreciated it more than I could tell them. It was a refuge where I could hide while the baby grew and while I figured out how to hold myself together until I could find out what had happened to Greg.

While I was figuring it out, I worked. I joined the staff of the Philadelphia Enquirer as a photographer, changed my byline to Katherine Cameron and didn't talk about my past. Some of the veteran photographers there took one look at my work and knew, but they didn't say anything. I don't know what Harold told them about me but they were friendly and didn't pry.

It wasn't that I didn't want to talk about it. Any of it. All of it. The South Pacific. The Black Sheep. Greg. I just didn't know what to say. Silence was easier and it didn't hurt as much.

I told the Frenches I couldn't impose on them and would find a place of my own as soon as I could. They wouldn't hear of it. I could see where Don got the bullheaded stubborness that seemed to be a prerequisite for joining the Black Sheep. Harold put down his size 12 feet and said I would stay with them until the baby arrived and we'd talk about it after that.

"Your stories did so much for Don and the boys," he said. "This is the least we can do. We don't expect you to stay with us forever but let us help you until the baby comes."

And until I found out if Greg was alive or dead.

Those words went unspoken. While I expect they talked about it plenty when I wasn't around, no one talked about it in front of me. There was nothing to talk about, either way. Missing, presumed dead, meant exactly that and the War Department wasn't going to spend resources looking for dead men.

If Harold and Caroline were scandalized by the fact I was pregnant and not married, they kept it to themselves. They were supportive beyond anything I could have anticipated when Harold offered me a job at the Enquirer.

Don's mother and his 18-year-old sister, Helen, took one look at my clothes and suddenly, shopping trips became my new reluctant pastime.

"You need a professional wardrobe, dear," Caroline said firmly and off we went to have me kitted out with everything from skirts and dresses to foundation garments and stockings. Caroline and Helen were on a first name basis with every boutique owner and department store floor manager on Philly's north side and it was kind of impressive, watching them work. If they'd been around on La Cava, the boys' black market trading could have stepped up to a whole new level.

The whole clothing ordeal was no small undertaking and both Caroline and Helen probably deserved a medal because I had practically no decent clothes beyond the suit I'd borrowed from Laura to wear home. And clothing shopping really wasn't my cup of tea but we got through it without anyone getting hurt.

Helen assured me I looked wonderful in the stylish new skirts and jackets, but I missed the days of working in trousers and boots, with the sun and sweat and men's irreverent humor. Sometimes I'd hear an editor yelling at a junior reporter in the newsroom and it sounded so much like Micklin bellowing at _"them damn college boys"_ that I was back on La Cava in an instant. I put the trunk with everything from my assignment there in a corner of my bedroom and left the lid closed.

There is nothing subtle about being pregnant. It was clear my body had gone into business for itself and I woke each morning wondering what new development was going to announce itself today. Once again, Caroline took things into her ever-efficient hands and made an appointment for me with an obstetrician.

The man had friendly eyes and gentle hands and reminded me of an older version of Doc Reese. If he noticed I wasn't wearing a wedding ring, he kept his mouth shut. I sat there in his office, with its elegant wood paneling and lush carpet, listening to him talk about what I should expect in the coming months and wondered what he'd say if I told him this baby had been conceived in a tent on a US Marine Corps fighter base in the Solomons. I was half tempted to do it but he seemed like a genuinely nice man and I didn't want him to have a heart attack. I was going to need him in the future.

The baby was due in the middle of August, which seemed years away and terrifyingly soon at the same time. After about a month in Philly, I quit vomiting at the smell of food in the morning and I felt better than I had since coming back to the States. Caroline told me I was beautiful and pregnancy agreed with me. Maybe it did, in its own way. Knowing I carried Greg's child was an endless wellspring of joy that tempered the overwhelming pain of his loss. Tempered. Not relieved. There would be no relief until I saw those blue eyes and heard him saying my name.

Helen's friendship was a lifesaver. Don's little sister was a freshman at a local private college, studying journalism. It didn't escape me that she hadn't declared a major until I'd lived with the family for a month. Then she decided to pursue a career in reporting. She was kind of shy around me until one day we were talking, just the two of us, and I accidentally let slip some of the racier things her brother had done.

"He didn't!" Helen breathed, eyes gone wide. "With a nurse on the beach? _Outdoors_?"

She sounded properly scandalized and I smiled, trying to remember what it felt like to be that innocent.

"Oh, yeah, he did, and more than once," I said. "We all did."

Helen's eyes grew even wider.

"The beach was the most private spot on that island. We went there to escape from everything." I couldn't help grinning at her shocked delight. "But don't ever tell your parents I told you that, they'll kick me out for sure."

They wouldn't and we both knew it, but from that day on, Helen and I shared an unspoken agreement that I would tell her things I would not say in front of her parents.

All three of the Frenches were eager to hear stories about life on the base and I shared them, although not without careful editing. If Harold and Caroline heard about some of Don's wilder antics with the Black Sheep, it wasn't going to be on my watch. Meatball made friends with Petra, the family Pomeranian, and the two of them made an unlikely duo, cavorting around the house and grounds.

My new life settled into a routine. When I wasn't working and she wasn't in school, Helen introduced me to the city. She was four years my junior and although she was nothing like Sarah, she was funny and optimistic and I valued her friendship dearly.

We went to museums, art galleries, parks and concerts. I accompanied the family to dinner parties, cocktail parties, awards parties – the newspaper was always getting some kind of award – civic galas and almost every other get-together hosted by the social elite of Philadelphia. I knew they were trying to help me start a new life and distract me so my mind didn't dwell on Greg.

Sometimes it worked. Almost. Then, in the middle of a glittering throng in some elegant home, surrounded by evening dress and champagne, I'd catch a whiff of tobacco or aftershave and my heart would leap, only to come crashing back to earth with another tiny piece broken off. I wondered if one day so many pieces would have broken off there would be nothing left and when that day came, if I would simply cease to exist.

In spite of the nonstop bustle of living and working in the city, it was harder to let go of the Black Sheep than I expected. I didn't really try. In quiet moments I could hear the roar of the Corsairs lifting off on a dawn mission or feel the heat of a tropical evening wrapping around me like a caress.

And the thought haunted me constantly.

 _Where was Greg?_

I desperately missed the quiet intensity of his presence, the joy of sharing the day with him, the way he could make me feel like we were alone even when we were in the middle of a rowdy group in the Sheep Pen. I woke, reaching for him in the darkness, the ache in my heart a thing with jagged edges and my pillow damp with tears. I saw his smile when I closed my eyes, heard his voice as if I were encased in a bubble of memory while the world swirled around me.

I read the reports from other news services – they were kind of hard to avoid when you worked for a newspaper - but after living it firsthand, I found their coverage of the South Pacific vague and frustrating. Jim, Casey, Dee, Sarah and all of the Black Sheep were still there, scattered across bases on the islands and on carriers, and I prayed desperately for their safety. The war was grinding on but I was no longer a part of it.

The grief caught me at unexpected times, leaving me dizzy and gulping for breath. Helen, with a gentle intuitiveness, became adept at pulling me back from the brink of the abyss where nothing mattered. The Frenches and the job at the Enquirer were a safety net that held me suspended in time, safe and warm and surrounded by people who cared deeply for me, while I drifted in a fog of uncertainty. The baby, this tiny unknown being, was already a force in my life. I had never imagined myself as a mother but the little creature had taken over my body and given my heart a focus beyond Greg, while at the same time serving as a constant reminder of the love we'd shared. I thought of the baby as "he" for no other reason than the connection to his father.

Of which there still wasn't any news. No one knew any thing. Or if they did, they weren't telling.

It was May when the baby kicked for the first time. I was helping Helen edit a story she'd written for a reporting class. I jolted upright in the chair, the unexpected sensation rippling through my body.

"Are you all right?" Helen asked anxiously.

The baby kicked again. I reached out and took her hand. I put it over my ever-expanding midsection and we waited, breathless, until the tiny being unleashed another punch.

"I'm fine," I said, dazed. "He's real. And he's already got a good right hook."

 **XXX**

 **May 1944: Somewhere in Japan**

Greg awoke to the sound of chuckling. Rolling painfully to a sit, he rubbed a hand over his face, surprised even after all this time at the rough growth of beard. Under him, the ragged blanket provided little cushion and he groaned as battered muscles protested. At least the floor was wood this time, not dirt, and there was a roof to keep out the rain. Nothing kept out the rats.

The chuckling continued.

"I don't know what you're drinking that makes this so funny," he grumbled, "but maybe you'd like to share."

"Sorry, mate, can't help you there." Robin McGregor's accent was pure Aussie. "But you're nothing if not predictable. It's good for a bit of a laugh."

Greg stretched, regretting the action immediately as pain rippled across his shoulders and down his back.

"Glad to provide the entertainment but next time, call the USO." He rubbed his temple and wasn't surprised when his fingers brushed over clotted blood.

"Are you all right, then?" The voice held a note of concern along with residual amusement.

"As all right as I'm likely to get." Greg decided nothing was permanently damaged. The wounds would heal. They always did. "When did they bring me back?"

"Dunno. It was pitch dark when they threw you in here. You must have given them some good sport this time."

"Would have been more sporting if there hadn't been six of them and one of me," he muttered, flexing the fingers of his right hand.

"Ah, well, these boys don't like a fair fight, do they?" Getting no answer, he continued, "Looks a bit wet out there. No work for us today. The guards don't like standing in the rain."

Greg gave an appreciative snort. Watery dawn light shone through a wire-covered window near the eaves. The hut was a mish-mash of bamboo canes, timber framing and corrugated tin, all tightly lashed together with wire. The fact it had a solid floor and ceiling was due less to his captors' concern for his comfort and more for their desire that he not be able to dig or climb his way out. He'd tried both in other camps with various levels of success. He'd known it was a futile gesture. Even if he got out, trying to be inconspicuous as a Caucasian in an Asian country practically guaranteed failure from the start.

Escaping an enemy camp would probably end one of two ways: being shot on sight by the enemy or dying slowly of exposure and starvation. He was pretty sure at some point, his captors had considered giving him the option of choosing between the two, just to be rid of him. If they expected him to be a troublesome prisoner, he'd been sure to live up to their expectations.

They seemed to know who he was and from the start, he'd gotten the odd feeling they were under orders not to beat him past the point of recovery. He'd been half dead already when they drug him into the sub that day but they'd given him decent medical attention. They'd even treated his recurring bouts of malaria. Not with the gentle skill of Navy nurses but enough to ensure he survived. They didn't want him dying on their watch but they were willing to go within a few steps of it, he thought.

He studied the figure sitting against the opposite wall.

Robin McGregor looked like TJ and acted like Jim. A captain in the Royal Australian Air Force, McGregor had been captured during the Japanese invasion of Darwin a few years earlier. His cheerfully irreverent attitude and determination to survive made the incarceration bearable. This was the third camp Greg been held in and he'd been here two weeks. They hadn't even bothered with secrecy when they moved him this time, just bound his wrists and legs and shuffled him and a dozen other prisoners onto a truck at bayonet point. After an interminable amount of time being thrown around like rocks in a box, they'd been unloaded by different bayonet-wielding guards.

The new camp looked so much like the old camp for a minute Greg wondered if they'd just put the men in a truck and driven them around in circles all day. He'd been quick to test the guards' commitment to their jobs. They were committed. He had a few new scars to prove it.

McGregor was chuckling again.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"You, mate. You barely speak 10 words of Japanese but you have the balls to tell the guards what their sisters are doing with the village goat."

Greg closed his eyes. In hindsight, that probably hadn't been the smartest thing but the unrelenting tedium of the forced labor gangs made him push the envelope of caution. This place wasn't a five star hotel but the guards generally didn't beat him as long as he kept his mouth shut. Prisoners weren't any good if they were too broken to put in a day's work.

"How many times does this make?" McGregor mused. "Twice? No, three, at least."

"Are you just counting this camp or do you want to start from the beginning?" Greg muttered.

"No matter. I reckon it's all the same. You piss them off, they beat the hell out of you, then you lay there, groaning and talking in your sleep. Very entertaining, really. Dunno what I did for fun before you showed up."

"I don't talk in my sleep." Did he?

"Yeah, you do."

Greg wished he could say the same for McGregor but the man was a silent sleeper. He didn't even snore, which was a bonus if you had to be locked up with someone. He'd been held with larger groups of prisoners initially, plenty of snoring there. Since then, they tended to keep him segregated, often isolated. He welcomed McGregor's companionship even if the man had a twisted sense of humor.

They sat, listening to the rain falling on the tin roof.

"What's she like?" McGregor broke the silence.

"What's who like?"

"Kate."

"How - ?"

"You say her name a lot, chum. Your wife?"

"No." His voice didn't invite further questions. Imagines of what could have been and what might never be ran roughshod through his mind, more painful than the beating.

McGregor took a different tack.

"And what's all the blather about a meatball? Who talks about one meatball? I know you American aces like to brag about your kills but you never talk about more than one."

That brought a reluctant snort from Greg.

"Meatball was my dog on La Cava. The base mascot."

Silence again, broken only by the steady drip, drip, drip of rain.

"What's she look like?"

"Meatball?"

"No! Did they hit you on the head too many times or were you daft to start? I've been sitting in this bloody jungle for more than a year but I'm not so far gone I want to know what a dog looks like! Tell me about your girl. I hear her name so often I feel like I should know her."

Greg stretched out on his back again, felt the bruises throbbing in his muscles. He folded his arms behind his head and looked at the hut's ceiling. Through the interrogations, the deprivation, the mind-numbing uncertainty of not knowing what his captors planned to do with him, thinking about Kate kept him from going out of his mind. Her flame burned with a bright, clear warmth, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a life preserver. He rarely talked about her, even when the other men reminisced about their sweethearts.

It was too painful to think about her being alone. That was the real cruelty of being held prisoner – not the slop they fed him or the forced labor or the primitive conditions where the men were held. It was knowing she must think he was gone from her life forever. But it gave him something live for. To survive, that someday, he could see her again. Her and the baby.

"She has the most incredible legs you've ever seen but at first they were the only thing I liked about her," he began.

Across the hut, McGregor sighed contentedly.

"I'm guessing you found a few more things you liked?" he said.

"You could say that." The images came fast through Greg's mind, sparkling like a meteor shower against a black velvet sky.

"Don't make me drag this out of you, mate. Tell it from the start. It's not like we're going anywhere."

"She wasn't having any of me, either, at least not in the beginning." He found comfort in the words now. Sharing the story with McGregor kept her alive – real and vivid in his mind – as if it was only yesterday he'd seen her. "She had trouble written all over her and there she was, right in the middle of my squadron . . . with those damned gorgeous legs and attitude to burn."

"Sounds like a lovely girl."

"You don't know the half of it."

 **XXX**

 **August 14, 1944, Philadelphia**

"Son of a bitch, here comes another one."

I clenched my teeth.

"I remember exactly how this started and let me tell you, _that_ part was a lot more fun. Promise me you and Jim are using -" I broke off and clamped down on Sarah's hand as the contraction seized me. They were coming closer together now and meant business.

Sarah blushed furiously. I let out my breath as the pain eased and fell back against the pillows of the hospital bed. I stared pointedly at my sister. Sarah had been granted a brief hardship leave and traveled back to the States to be with me when I delivered. It was the first time I'd seen her since I left the Solomons and we had a lot of catching up to do.

"If you _are_ sleeping with him, I hope at least one of you is being responsible and I'd guess it needs to be you." I picked up where I'd left off. Labor was turning into a tedious process and as far as I was concerned, any topic was fair game to pass the time.

The attending nurse shot us a horrified glance. At this point, I was past caring what anyone thought.

"You're a fine one to talk," Sarah hissed. "Maybe you should have taken a page out of your own book. Condoms aren't exactly hard to find on a fighter base."

"Don't be a smart ass. I thought you were here for comfort and support. It's a little late to be lecturing me now. And how do you know how hard it is to find condoms?" I studied her closely. Her face was still warm with color. "You _are_ sleeping with him, aren't you? When did that start?" I could feel the next contraction building and shifted, trying to ease the inevitable. It didn't help. "Oh _bloody hell_! This needs to get over. Damnit, Greg, where are you! You're responsible for this!"

Sarah gripped my hand and looked like she was about to say something to the effect that I shared an equal responsibility for my current condition but then wised up and stayed quiet. That was a good idea on her part. There was no telling what I was going to say before this was over.

 **XXX**

Labor changed to delivery. When the doctor attempted to evict Sarah from the room, I had a right and proper fit.

"She didn't fly 5,000 miles to sit in a waiting room and read month-old magazines while I have all the fun," I snapped.

"Really, it's better if you don't argue with her," Sarah told the doctor. "Trust me. She's trying to make an example out of herself. I'm the little sister who's supposed to learn a lesson from this."

The doctor looked at us like we were both mental but didn't say anything.

Later that evening, after a great deal of swearing on my part, 7 pound, 12 ounce Elizabeth Joyce Boyington made her entrance into the world, squalling furiously at the indignity of it all. I was in complete sympathy with her. Sarah told me later I'd sworn at least a dozen times that I was never going to let Greg touch me again.

You'd think after having nine months to get ready for her arrival, I would have had a name picked out but I'd been so convinced she was a boy, I was caught flat-footed. Sarah and I sat in the quiet of the private room the Frenches insisted on paying for, letting names roll off our lips and discarding them almost immediately as too long, too short, too fancy, too plain or just not right.

"If you'd been a boy, this would have been a lot easier," I said to the baby. "You would have been Gregory James and that would have been that." Elizabeth Joyce did not appear at all repentant. Honestly, I didn't care one way or the other. I was delighted she was here, finally, with 10 fingers and 10 toes and a healthy set of lungs.

I finally settled on Elizabeth because it was Sarah's middle name and Joyce because it was our mother's name. It seemed like a very big name for a very small baby and I called her Joy, in memory of everything Greg and I had shared.

"She looks just like you, Kate," Sarah breathed. She touched the baby's tiny hand with her index finger. "She's perfect."

"She doesn't look anything like me." I studied the pink-wrapped bundle in my arms. "She has dark hair and blue eyes." I smiled in spite of the bone weary exhaustion of the last 10 hours. "She's got Greg stamped all over her."

"Her hair is dark but I think it's going to be auburn, like yours when you were little." Sarah smiled as Joy's fingers reflexively closed around hers. "She got the Cameron hair and the Boyington eyes. God help us."

We sat in silence, studying the baby.

"Sair," I said quietly, "I mean it. Be careful, you and Jim. Greg and I were usually . . . but not every time . . . and well . . . I wouldn't change anything now but so help me, if I get a letter from you telling me you're pregnant I will get back on a damned airplane and come down there and –"

Sarah cut me off. I could tell she was half-embarrassed to have me lecturing her about sex but hey, what are big sisters for?

"Don't worry about me and Jim. You've got your hands full here now."

"I'm your big sister. I will always worry about you." I smiled and squeezed her hand. "Especially if you're sleeping with Jim. I think you've been leaving a lot out of your letters."

Sarah just grinned at her.

"How much time have you got?"

 **XXX**

"They're still looking for him," Sarah said on the morning she left to make the return trek to Rendova. "Jim and Casey never stop asking questions."

With the focus on Joy's arrival, I hadn't asked and Sarah hadn't brought up the topic earlier. We both knew the War Department had written Greg off as just one more downed pilot. Missing, presumed dead. Another name on the casualty rolls as the war marched on.

The boys' black market network, honed to a razor's edge during the Black Sheep's heyday, provided a constant source of information. Some was verifiable, some nothing but gossip. Casey wasn't getting much out of General Moore in spite of his best efforts. He and Jim followed leads, made calls, checked out rumors and still came up empty-handed. Sarah had nothing to tell me that I didn't already know. The Japanese would neither confirm nor deny they were holding Greg prisoner.

I knew every day that passed, every rumor that couldn't be verified, every piece of intelligence that ran into a dead end pushed hope further and further away. I brushed the tears off my cheeks and hugged Sarah good-bye. Harold was waiting in front of the house to drive her to the airport.

"He's still alive, Sair," I whispered fiercely. "I know it."

Maybe Sarah didn't agree with me but she knew better than to argue.

 **XXX**

Joy's arrival turned my life upside down in ways I'd never imagined. Seven months earlier, I'd told Dee I didn't know anything about babies but on Aug. 15, 1944, that changed in a hurry. The learning curve was steep and incredible. I wished desperately Greg could have been there to share it with me. Every time I looked into Joy's face, I saw him in her eyes and knew he'd come home to us. I just didn't know when.

 **XXX**

 **August 1944: Somewhere in Japan**

"What month is this?"

Sweat trickled down Greg's his face and into his beard. Outside the hut, a guard rattled the lock on the door as he passed by, double checking that the occupants were secure and at the same time, reminding them of their status as guests of the Empire of Japan.

"Dunno. August, I think. Maybe September?" Robin rolled onto his side. "Let me consult my calendar." He rose to his knees and studied a series of hash marks scratched into the wall. "Yep. Still August. Does it matter?"

Did it matter? If his calculations were even close, the baby had come by now. He leaned against the bamboo wall and closed his eyes. In his mind's eye, he could see Kate that last morning, alight with that soft inner glow.

He tried to picture the strong-willed, fiercely independent girl he'd fallen in love with as a mother. He remembered her pounding Alan McNeil into the dirt of the airstrip on La Cava, remembered her going face-to-face with Jim about her sister's honor. She'd badgered a reluctant supply sergeant into completing a black market deal and pulled the wool over Colonel Lard's eyes with almost frightening mastery. Once, when Meatball came out on the wrong end of a fight with some jungle varmint, she'd taken over cleaning and dressing the dog's oozing wounds when it became more than he could stomach. God knows she'd cleaned him up after a couple of his more spectacular fights. She was resourceful, creative, clever, gentle and fierce in turn and she'd put up with the Black Sheep for six months without killing any of them. Yeah. She'd make an incredible mother. He just never imagined she'd be doing it alone.

He was aware McGregor was watching him keenly.

"Kate was pregnant when I got splashed."

The younger man's eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead, then he chuckled slowly.

"Figured a chap your age would know how to prevent that. You Yanks don't believe in frangers? Or you couldn't be bothered to stop for one?"

Greg pulled a face.

"So that's what you call them? " He laughed wryly. "You stop every time?"

McGregor gave this some thought.

"Been so long, I reckon I forgot."

They sat, listening to jungle creatures scuffling nearby.

"She wasn't very far along. She hadn't told me."

The Aussie pilot scratched his head.

"Your girl was in the family way but she didn't tell you?"

"She hadn't told me _yet_. There's a difference."

"But you knew?"

"Yeah." Greg thought back to the last time they'd made love, the night before everything had gone to hell. Her body had somehow been softer, fuller, more responsive to his touch. He'd known without her having to say a word.

"How? How could you tell?" McGregor looked genuinely curious and Greg was reminded how much younger the other man was. Not that he himself had any experience with pregnant women either. He'd kind of made it a point to avoid that situation.

"Were you gone the day they taught that in biology? I'm not explaining it." He ran a hand over his face. God, what he'd give to get rid of this beard. "I think she was a couple of months along. The way I figure it, the baby should have come some time this month."

"Christ, mate! Break out the cigars!" McGregor seemed genuinely happy for him and he felt an unexpected surge of pride. Even if he never got out of here, never saw Kate again, he knew she had their child.

As if in response, a small slot near the floor rattled and two wooden bowls were shoved through. The door slammed shut and the bolt slid home. Greg handed a bowl to McGregor and took the other for himself. He looked down. Rice and fish. Again.

Break out the cigars indeed. What a welcome to fatherhood.

 **Autumn 1944: Philadelphia**

I took time off from the newspaper after Joy's arrival. I learned to change diapers and heat bottles and about a million other things I never imagined myself doing. Caroline stepped in if I asked for help but caring for this new little life was unexpectedly rewarding and I embraced it with unanticipated delight.

Joy endured my novice blunders with good-natured patience and we learned together. Little offended her and she yowled only when she felt something was seriously amiss in her world. She was easily appeased by cuddling and restoration of creature comforts. Meatball glued himself to her from the day she came home from the hospital. He slept by the crib and ran to find me, agitated, any time the baby fussed.

"Silly dog," I told him, sitting on the floor with Joy in my lap. "You sure love your girls." The terrier nuzzled her on the cheek and she smiled toothlessly and waved her hands. I thought she was the most absolutely darling baby I'd ever encountered although my experience with babies was admittedly limited. I figured her first word would probably be "dog."

Sarah wrote constantly and kept me updated on as many of the Black Sheep as she could. Don was still a flight instructor at Henderson. Casey had apparently found his calling as General Moore's aide and to hear her tell it, he was single-handedly running the base on Espritos as well as a thriving black market trade in everything from silk stockings to Scotch. General Moore found these skills extremely beneficial and pretended not to notice what was happening under his very nose.

Jim was a squadron leader on Rendova, where he and TJ flew with the Fighting Gryphons. TJ had four enemy kills now and hadn't shot down any American planes since leaving the Black Sheep. Jim expected him to make ace unless the war ended suddenly and none of us figured that was going to happen.

Shortly before Christmas, Casey wrote to say General Moore had heard rumors that a Japanese sub picked up a downed pilot that day near Rabaul. I knew verifying rumors was like trying to grasp smoke, but it was the first news I'd heard in months. It settled in my heart, a small, hot ember that I cradled and nurtured as I watched Joy grow.

 **January 3, 1945: Philadelphia**

If anyone realized it was the one-year anniversary of Greg's disappearance, they didn't bring it up. That was the thing about Harold and Caroline. It wasn't like they were pushing me to get on with my life – i.e., find a nice boy and settle down – but they tended not to talk about Greg, probably because when they did, they inevitably lapsed into the past tense and then I had to find a reason to leave the room.

That evening, after the house settled for the night and Joy was asleep in her crib, I opened my trunk for the first time since I'd left the South Pacific. I swear, the air inside still smelled like La Cava – that unique blend of aviation fuel and tenebee palms. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I could smell the beach, the exhaust of the planes coming back hot after a mission, the canvas of the tents.

I sifted aimlessly through the miscellaneous clothing and the odds and ends of my field office before pulling out the bottle of Lawson's that had been wrapped in a pair of trousers, untouched for more than a year. I broke the seal, toasted Greg and drank straight from the bottle. Finally, I lifted out the thick album of photos from my time with the Black Sheep. The tears came almost before I opened the cover.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs but apparently I wasn't as quiet as I thought. There was a gentle knock on the door and I hastily wiped my face.

"Come in."

Helen didn't say a word, just sat down next to me and balanced half the album on her lap. I offered her a drink. She accepted but wrinkled up her nose in a pretty little squint.

"It's an acquired taste," I said, "like falling in love with a fighter pilot."

She took a tentative sip, coughed and handed the bottle back.

"Tell me about them," she said, placing her hand over mine on the album. "Tell me about him."

This time, I didn't censor the stories. I told Helen about the night the boys put a rat in my bed, the time Greg took me up in his plane, about Don making ace and his party and how I woke up in Greg's bed the next morning. Figuring the younger girl understood where babies came from by now, I told her about the first night we made love on the beach. And the night that resulted in Joy. Helen's pretty brown eyes went wide.

"That's so romantic," she said, then added, "Do Mummy and Daddy know about that?"

"No!" I pretended to be horrified and although I was sure the elder Frenches knew I wasn't choir girl material, they did a fabulous job of acting like everything was right and proper. After all, Joy's birth certificate said Boyington on it. She had a father, even if we weren't married and I didn't even know where he was. "And don't you even think about telling them!"

"Only if you promise to tell me more about all the boys," Helen said. Her smile reminded me so much of Don I couldn't refuse. As memories of the past rose up out of the album, they felt less like ghosts, haunting me, and more like the promise of things to come. I just didn't know when.

 **XXX**

Casey, Sarah, Dee and Jim stayed true to their promises to write. Their letters came randomly, tossed by the winds of war. They were all still in the Solomons. Casey asked Dee to marry him and she said yes. They agreed to wait until the war ended. Dee was offered a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and a transfer to the Naval hospital at Pearl. Casey encouraged her to accept. Even though they would be separated, they both knew she would be safer there.

Sarah's letters said Raider's reputation as a scout dog was growing and if he kept it up, he'd probably be invited to the White House for a medal ceremony after the war. She also mentioned she'd won the Marines versus Army poker tournament on Rendova, besting Jim in the final round. Afterward, Jim had suggested several ways she could help his ego recover. She didn't elaborate and I wasn't about to ask for details.

Jim said there was no further word about Greg but he had done a fly-by over Lard's office the last time he was on Espritos just so the colonel didn't forget about him. He said he missed playing poker with me because I was the only Cameron he could beat.

Don even wrote and jokingly threatened retribution if I told his little sister even half of what the Black Sheep had done. I added a post script to one of Helen's letters to her brother. " _Too late. Helen knows all and will blackmail you for the rest of your life. KC"_

The Frenches found a local girl to work as a nanny when I decided to return to the Enquirer. It was a comfortable arrangement. I enjoyed my work and spent every spare moment with little Joy, but I knew I could not live on Harold and Caroline's charity much longer. Whatever our future held, Joy and I needed to find it on our own.

One snowy evening in late January, Harold handed me a thick magazine before dinner. He had a conspiratorial smile on his face.

"The Blood Horse?" I was familiar with the publication. It followed the Thoroughbred racing industry across North America and Europe.

"The editor and I go way back. He saw the piece you did on the city's mounted police and asked if I thought you'd consider coming to work for him in Kentucky. He says it's apparent you know one end of a horse from the other. We'd hate to see you go, Katie, but it might be a good move for you."

I shifted Joy to my other shoulder. Five months old now, the baby was a warm, sleepy lump. A very heavy, warm, sleepy lump. No one had told me how fast babies grew. Some days it seemed the child was changing before my eyes.

"What part of Kentucky?" It would be nice to leave the city behind, even though it would be my fifth major move in three years. Starting when I was 20, I'd moved from my hometown in North Dakota to be near Sarah in California, then to Europe and the United Kingdom where I served with the Associated Press, which had led me to the South Pacific and then back to Pennsylvania. Relatively speaking, moving to Kentucky would be like walking across the street. Moving didn't bother me. I didn't seem to be happy unless I was living like a gypsy.

"Edward Mills, that's the editor, has an elderly aunt, Coretha Harris, whose family owns a horse farm south of Lexington. Some breeding, some racing, but they specialize in taking Thoroughbreds off the track and turning them into –" Harold, who was a genuinely sweet man but barely knew one end of a horse from the other, waved a hand dismissively, "whattaya call 'ems, riding horses, to re-sell. Old Miss Harris says you can live in the groundskeeper's cottage on the estate at no charge if you'll do some riding for them, evenings and weekends when you're not working at the magazine. Nothing too demanding, just helping with the horses they're re-training. Don said you'd done some riding at a track at California?"

I wondered how Harold managed to classify controlling 1,000 pounds of bone and muscle that was used to approaching life at a tearing gallop as "nothing too demanding." I hadn't ridden since leaving England. It would be wonderful to be around horses again. It would be wonderful to raise Joy in the country.

"Old Miss Harris lives in the main house," Harold went on. "Her son and his wife, William and Audrey Harris, live there, too. They have a son, Daniel, who's your age and serving somewhere in the South Pacific."

Somewhere in the South Pacific. I winced inwardly. I looked at Joy.

"Whattaya think, little lamb? Shall we go to Kentucky?"

The baby regarded me with sleepy blue eyes and broke into a smile. A dimple creased her right cheek and my heart turned over. She reminded me so much of him.

I looked at Howard.

"Tell me more about the job," I said.

 **XXX**

And just like that, my life changed again. Joy was six months old when we traded the noise and hustle of Philadelphia for mist hanging over bluegrass pastures at Cedar Creek, Kentucky. I fell in love with White Oak Farm immediately, the people, the horses, the work . . . but it didn't matter where we lived or where I worked, that restless ache in my heart was always there. I could see his eyes and hear his voice and I knew he would come back to us. I just had no idea how long we had to wait.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26: Holding patterns**

 **March 1945: Main House, White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

The mantle clock ticked as flames danced in the hearth. Even though the house had newly-installed electric heat, a crackling fire added an element lacking in a forced air furnace. Outside, a spring storm sent rain pounding against the windows. I'd spent most of a chilly afternoon in the saddle, helping evaluate several new horses, and it felt good to sit and do nothing for a spell in the evening.

After taking dinner at the main house with Coretha Harris and her son and daughter-in-law, William and Audrey, I usually shared a nightcap with them before going back to the groundskeeper's cottage with Joy. William and Audrey excused themselves while I lingered, reluctant to leave the room's cozy warmth. Joy played with blocks on the hearthrug and Meatball snoozed nearby, equally reluctant to brave the elements.

Coretha's knitting needles clicked in a steady rhythm. I relaxed in a wingback chair by the fire, sipping two fingers of bourbon. The nightly ritual was soothing in its familiarity as it never failed to bring back memories of my nightcaps with Greg.

I let the flames dance against my closed eyelids and could almost feel his fingers against my skin. Could see him surrounded by the men, see the intensity in his eyes when he said, "I've got a plan," before launching the squadron on some unlikely scheme that defied both rules of physics and the Marine Corp Manual. Could see him later, when it was just the two of us, the look in his eye no less intense.

"My grandson Danny is home from the war." Coretha's words carved through the room's quiet.

If she hoped to catch me off guard, it worked. I'd heard all about Daniel Harris, who fought on Guadalcanal, got hit by a mortar round and nearly lost a leg. After recovering, he'd refused a medical discharge and served on desk duty for the remainder of his enlistment. He'd been honorably discharged and now was back in Cedar Creek. Born and raised around Thoroughbreds, he planned to help his father with the administrative end of the farm's operations.

"I spoke with him on the telephone this afternoon," Coretha went on. "He asked about you."

"That's nice." I kept my voice neutral. I doubted very much that Danny had asked about me, given we'd never met, but I imagined Miss Coretha had made it a point to tell Danny all about me.

Joy knocked her blocks over and giggled. Meatball poked them with his nose and she patted him, mumbling an unintelligible string of words. Meatball thumped his tail. At seven months old, the little girl talked a blue streak although neither I nor anyone else had any idea what she was saying. It didn't matter. She usually got whatever she wanted by merit of flashing that dimpled smile. Just like your papa, I thought more than once. God help me when you get older.

"I can't wait for the two of you to meet," Coretha went on, refusing to let me spend time with my own thoughts. "You have so much in common, beings as you spent time in the South Pacific, too."

Spent time.

That was how the older woman classified my Associated Press assignment with the Black Sheep. She knew Joy had been conceived there and that her father was listed as missing, presumed dead. As far as Coretha was concerned, that made me prime marriage material. I wasn't about to pursue that line of thought. The woman was putting a roof over my and Joy's head and food in our mouths. I figured Coretha must not think I was a complete tramp or she wouldn't be serving me up to her grandson.

I sipped my drink and stared into the fire, wondering how I was going to handle this ongoing balancing act. Danny Harris was one more man I didn't want to meet. Since my arrival at White Oak, Coretha had paraded me past every eligible bachelor within 50 miles. My complete indifference to them hadn't stopped the old woman from her determination to find me a husband. Single women my age needed to be married. Single women my age with a baby needed to be married yesterday.

"He's coming to dinner after church on Sunday," Coretha said, needles clicking contentedly. "It will be nice for the two of you to get to know each other."

I made a noncommittal noise. I knew Coretha thought she had my best interests at heart but I didn't think my heart was anyone's business but my own.

Coretha blew out a sigh.

"Katie, your little girl needs a daddy."

"My little girl has a daddy."

The challenge hung in the air.

"You don't know – "

"You're right. I don't know." My voice was low, backed with the same steel that had seen me through that volatile exit interview with Colonel Lard all those months ago. "And until I know, I'll wait."

Coretha didn't miss a stitch on her knitting.

"It would be nice if you wore something besides riding breeches to Sunday dinner."

 **XXX**

That night, curled under warm quilts, with Joy snug in her crib nearby and Meatball sprawled at the foot of the bed, I wondered if I was waiting for something that would never happen. I'd dreamed of Greg coming back to me for so long I never stopped to consider a life that didn't include him.

And what would happen when he _did_ come back? Would he be able to find me? Would he want to find me? It wasn't just me now – I had a child. We never talked about marriage, let alone children. I had no doubt he loved me but a ready-made family was more than a lot of men were ready for. I clung to Jim's words – _"He'd have been happy about it, Katie. He told me once he wanted a family . . ."_

I closed my eyes and braced for the demons. They always came when I was alone in the dark, fanning the flames of doubt with their leathery wings and slashing at the gossamer threads of faith and love that bound me to him. When they circled, threatening me and Joy, I was reminded of the unvarnished, heart-breaking truth that I might never see him again.

The thought sent such a stab of fear through me the only way to fight it was to let anger explode, heat and power blasting the demons back into the cold emptiness where they lived.

He was alive. He was coming home. I just had to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer.

 **XXX**

 **March 1945: Somewhere in Japan**

Robin McGregor said it was March now and Greg took his word for it. The Aussie obsessively kept track of the days, etching another hash mark onto the wall of their cell with a small stone each night before they fell asleep. It was part of the ritual – work, eat, scratch out confirmation they were another day closer to . . . what?

The Japanese seemed to have tired of moving him from one site to another. He'd been at this labor camp for six months now, the longest he'd spent in one place since his capture. With that in mind, Greg wasn't surprised when the guards woke him and McGregor at dawn, shackled them and herded them into the back of a tarp-covered truck. Since they usually marched on foot to the day's work assignment, he figured they were either being moved again or taken out to be shot. Neither idea appealed to him. Better the devil you knew than the one you didn't. One of the guards jabbed him impatiently in the ribs with the barrel of his rifle.

"Watch where you're poking that thing, riceball," he snarled.

The guard narrowed his eyes and spat out a scathing reply. In his limited Japanese, Greg made an observation about the guard's mother's choice of bedmates. The last thing he remembered was the rifle butt descending on his head. Again.

 **XXX**

" _Do I need to haul you to Doc Reese to see if you've cracked your thick skull?"_

 _She looked worried and vexed and beautiful all at the same time._

" _No. Just kiss me."_

 _She smiled._

" _I did. You said it hurt."_

" _It doesn't hurt everywhere. Just kiss me, I'll tell you when to stop."_

"Sorry, mate, I like you well enough but I'm not kissing you."

Greg sat up with a choked expletive. Pain exploded through his head. He groaned and fell back against the floor, raising a hand to gingerly to explore the lump over his ear. Blood had dried into a tangled mat of hair. Sometimes he thought the only thing keeping him alive these days was the length of his hair. It seemed to cushion the worst of the blows.

He glared at McGregor.

"Thank God for small miracles." He winced. "Sorry pal, but you don't look anything like her."

McGregor shrugged.

"Good thing, that. No idea what you said to them this time but I don't think they appreciate your sense of humor," the Aussie said. "I thought you were a gonner after you got clubbed but they threw your sorry carcass into the truck and brought you along anyway. They like you for some reason."

"The feeling's mutual," Greg said dryly. "Where are we?" It was semi-dark but he could tell they weren't in the cell in the jungle compound anymore. The air smelled different here although it had been so long since he'd had a bath or clean clothes, he wasn't in much of a position to comment about how things smelled.

"We are in a genuine, grade A, first class POW camp, my friend." McGregor sounded more pleased than Greg thought he had a right to be. Of course, he hadn't been clocked over the head with a rifle butt, either.

"Omori."

"What?" Greg gave up worrying about his head. If it hadn't been cracked by now, it was probably all right this time, too.

"Omori Prison Camp. Don't you get it, old son? We're officially listed as POWs now."

"What the hell were we before? Girl Scouts?"

McGregor sighed patiently.

"I've been listening to the guards while you got your beauty sleep. I daresay my Japanese is better than yours, even if I have the good sense not to insult their mothers. Anyway, now they're accountable for letting officials know we're alive. Especially you, Boy-ying-ton." McGregor mimicked the guard's pronunciation. "You're some kind of a big deal."

Greg's mind reeled and this time it wasn't from getting hit. Was it possible the Japanese had kept his whereabouts a secret all this time? That they hadn't reported his capture before now? Sweet Jesus. Kate would have surely given him up for dead after so many months of no news. It would have been bad enough if she knew for sure he was taken prisoner but she must think he'd gone down with his Corsair, just more wreckage growing coral off the coast of Rabaul.

But if he and the other men had official POW status now, the slow wheels of bureaucracy would start churning to let the American government know he was alive. If the guards didn't decide to just shoot the whole lot of them in the meantime and be done with it.

But if they didn't . . . if this damned war ever ended . . . if he ever got out of here . . . he would find her and the child if it was the last thing he ever did.

 **XXX**

 **March 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Danny Harris was tall and lanky, with light brown hair, dark brown eyes and an easy smile. He spoke with a soft Kentucky drawl and I liked him immediately, in spite of his grandmother's obvious intention to have us married by Christmas. What made me like him even more was the fact he wasn't interested in marrying me, either. I'd come to recognize the hungry look in a man's eye when he sized me up as a prospective wife and I didn't see it in Danny. He was polite and funny and, I realized with a sense of relief so profound it drained clear down to my toes, so much like TJ Wiley or Don French or Bobby Anderson, I could have just hugged him.

Of course, Coretha was having none of that. Her intentions were clear. Her grandson was the perfect match and I would have to be blind not to see it. After a Sunday dinner full of awkward conversation, during which the elder woman reminded us how much we had in common, Danny put his napkin on the table and turned to me.

"It's a beautiful afternoon, would you like to go riding?"

I recognized the desperation in his face. He wanted to get out of there as badly as I did.

"That sounds wonderful." I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been dreading an afternoon of sitting in the parlor with Danny under Coretha's and Audrey's watchful eyes. "I'll just run and change and meet you at the barn. Lizzie, can you watch Joy for me?"

Thirteen-year-old Lizzie Murray, one of the ever-present Murray clan whose numbers served as cook, housekeeper, maid, butler, gardener, grooms and stable hands at White Oak, lit up at the prospect.

"I'd love to, Miss Kate."

The little girl spent so much time with the boisterous Murrays, who were a blend of Scottish immigrants and first generation Americans, I joked she would soon be speaking both English and Gaelic.

"Then it's settled." Danny rose and pulled my chair out for me. We nearly collided in our haste to leave the dining room.

I gratefully traded dress and stockings for boots, breeches and a quilted vest over a sweater. The March sunshine was bright but cool. Danny met me in front of the barn, leading Possum, a dapple gray heavy hunter with a sweet disposition, and Moonlight Serenade, a rangy, dark bay Thoroughbred colt William Harris had recently bought off the track. Possum was an easy ride. Serenade was what I called a work in progress.

We rode in companionable silence for 30 minutes before reining the horses to a halt under the cottonwood trees near the river. The branches were starting to leaf out, a soft blush of green against the tired browns and grays of fading winter.

"Look, Kate," Danny said, letting the reins go slack and turning in the saddle. "I know what my grandma is after and I can tell your heart's not in it. I don't want to offend you – I think you're really pretty and smart and everything - but I have to be honest, I'm not interested either."

"What gave it away?" I was relieved at his honesty.

Danny smiled.

"The way you look at your little girl. Like you're seeing her daddy and I got a feeling there isn't another man alive who could fill his boots."

I reined Serenade to a halt.

"That hasn't stopped your grandmother," I said. "She's been trying to marry me off since I got here. I've been to more hunt balls and church socials than you can shake a stick at. I know I'm driving her crazy. You're her latest . . . candidate."

Danny slid off Possum's back and took a few awkward limping steps on his ruined leg. I kicked my feet out of the stirrups and dropped to the ground. We walked, leading the horses. Shafts of pale spring sunlight cut through the clouds.

"Gran told me all about your little girl," Danny said, "how you weren't . . . uh . . . you're not . . . you didn't . . .," he stuttered, embarrassed.

"That I got pregnant while I was in the Solomons and Joy's daddy and I weren't married and he's missing and no one knows if he's even alive?" My voice was matter-of-fact. Danny was comfortably easy to talk to.

"Yeah." He sounded relieved at not having to say it. "Gran has it in her head that we'd be perfect for each other but – " he paused. There was something in his voice that made me look at him sharply. "I thought, I hoped, maybe . . ." he looked uncomfortable. I stopped and Serenade nudged me impatiently in the middle of the back.

"Pushy beast," I said to the horse before turning back to Danny. "You hoped what?"

"I really wanted to meet you because I hoped you could help me find someone." His words tumbled over themselves. "Someone who served in the Solomons, I think you might have known her."

I laughed. There had been thousands of female personnel who served there, not just on La Cava and Espritos but on bases throughout the theatre. I started to say as much when I recognized the look on his face, the familiarity of love and pain and loss.

"What was her name?"

"Laura. If she ever told me her last name, I don't remember it." Once he got started, the words poured out in a torrent. "She was a nurse on the hospital ship at Guadalcanal where I was treated after the Japanese tried to blow my leg off. I was out of my mind at first but I remember her. She used to spend her time off sitting with me or helping me walk. I teased her that she must not have anything better to do.

"They were trying to discharge me when she was transferred and I never saw her again. I tried to find her but I didn't even know her last name." He stopped. Possum waited patiently. "Do you believe two people can fall in love and not know it?"

I let my gaze drift over the fields **.** I remembered my heart catching in my throat as I looked into the blue flame of Greg's eyes the first night we met. Had I fallen in love with him at that moment? If I'd known the path our lives would take, would I have followed it anyway? Yeah. I would have.

"Yes, I do," I said, snapping back to the present. "People can fall in love at first sight but sometimes it takes them awhile to figure it out. Do you know where she was stationed after the hospital ship?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you – I think she was transferred to the hospital on Vella La Cava."

My memory flashed back again. I was standing on a footstool in Dee's quarters, Dee hemming a borrowed skirt while a blonde nurse coached me for my pending impersonation of a Navy lieutenant.

Laura's words from that night echoed in my head, _"Here's your backstory - you served on a hospital ship at Guadalcanal before being reassigned to La Cava."_

I grinned.

"Describe her."

"Blonde hair, blue eyes. Absolutely Scandinavian. Almost exactly your height and build. I know because I leaned on her arm while I was learning to walk again."

"Was she from Iowa?"

"Yes, some little place called – "

"Morning Sun!" I exclaimed, hand flying to my mouth. "Oh Danny, I know her!"

We remounted and let the horses carry us through the spring afternoon. I told him about my assignment with VMF 214, about meeting Laura through Dee, about Laura loaning me a bathing suit, high heeled pumps to match the cocktail dress Greg gave me and – blushing - the lingerie that went with it. I realized Danny was blushing, too. His eyes glowed as I told him about borrowing Laura's uniform and masquerading as Lieutenant Halvorson several times on Espritos Marcos. I didn't elaborate on the details.

"I can find her, I know I can." I reached across the gap between the horses and took Danny's hand. "She and Dee both left for Espritos before –" I faltered, then raised my chin, "- before the 214 was disbanded and I came back to the States. Dee's at Pearl now, I can write to her and see what she knows. It hasn't been that long. Laura might still be there. If not, Dee will know where to find her."

"Would you? I'd be forever grateful. I never told her how I felt. I don't know if she felt the same way but I can't get her out of my mind . . ." his voice trailed off.

I recognized the loss etched in his eyes.

"I could just kiss you for this, Katie," Danny said. "As a friend," he added hastily.

"Your grandma would love that. She's probably sitting on the roof of the house with field glasses right this minute, watching us."

Danny threw his head back and laughed. He leaned over and pulled me into a loose embrace. He did kiss me – on the cheek - as the horses jostled beneath us.

"I've got an idea," I said, pulling back. "How about we fly cover for each other until – " I paused, swallowed hard, and looked into his brown eyes, "- until I find Greg and you find Laura. If your grandmother thinks we're courting," I rolled my eyes at the word, "she'll stop trying to match us up with other people. You haven't been back long enough to see her in action but trust me, she wants great-grandchildren and she wants them now."

 **XXX**

It was very late that afternoon when they got back to the barns. Coretha Harris watched from her rocking chair on the front porch as they walked the horses up the long lane. She smiled contentedly. They made a lovely couple, her handsome grandson and that pretty little writer gal. Wedding bells would be ringing by Christmas. And the girl was a proven breeder, Coretha noted approvingly. There were sure to be plenty of great-grandbabies.

 **XXX**

If Coretha knew what her grandson and I were up to, she wouldn't have been quite so pleased but Danny and I kept our mouths shut and pretended to be getting to know one another better and aside from beaming brightly whenever she saw us together, she left us alone.

A few months later, the Allies defeated Hitler and the country went wild on VE Day. In the South Pacific, the war marched on.

 **XXX**

 **May 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

It was good to have work I loved. Some days, it was the only thing that kept me from going out of my mind.

I thrived on the assignments for _Blood Horse_ , spent a lot of time in the saddle at White Oak and above all else, threw my heart into raising Joy. At 10 months old, she lived up to her name. She was Greg through and through and with those blue eyes and that dimpled smile, no one stood a chance. She was outgoing, fearless and took a dim view of any activity that involved sitting still. Unless it was on a horse.

I was up on quiet, steady Possum one night when Lizzie brought Joy out to the arena to watch the end of the day's training. Old Caleb Murray lifted her up to me and said, "Little missy wants to ride with her mama." Joy squealed with delight as I nestled her into the saddle in front of me and after that, I made sure she got to ride with me at every possible chance. Lizzie brought her to the barn in the late afternoons when I was finishing with client horses and we'd take a spin around the arena if the beast I was riding was steady enough. If not, Caleb would saddle Possum for us, gruffly telling me not to worry about adding more work to the end of his day.

Joy was talking now – a blend of English and Gaelic, as predicted - and her vocabulary included all of the names of the horses, the barn cats and the assorted hounds and shepherd dogs on the farm. I think her favorite word, besides "Meatball," was "fast," after the day I cued Possum into his effortless canter and we circled the arena like shorebirds skimming the sand. Now everything she said was prefaced with "fast." She was such a little parrot I had to be careful what I said around her. I didn't need her announcing "bloody fucking hell" at the dinner table some night. Greg's daughter was not going to grow up swearing like a sailor, regardless of her mother's habits.

"You are so much like him," I said, kissing the top of her curls as we rode through the early summer dusk. Sarah was right. Joy's dark hair had lightened just enough to glow deep auburn. "One of these days, we'll all be together." Saying the words out loud kept the demons at bay and I said them every chance I got.

Joy looked up at me solemnly, chubby little hands clasping at the reins.

"Fast?"

And off we went.

 **XXX**

Through the summer, Danny and I kept up a very proper charade of courtship. When Coretha hinted about an engagement announcement, we just smiled and switched the subject as quickly as possible. Since Danny rode under the guise of strengthening his injured leg and horses were the family business, no one thought twice about how often we went riding together. It was a safe escape from nosy mothers and grandmothers who had started dropping hints that they should reserve the church for Christmastime nuptials. In the meantime, we were planning and plotting and exchanging information.

I was close to finding Laura Halvorson. Dee wrote back to say Laura had taken a transfer back to the States after serving on Pearl for about six months. She thought she'd left the service and was working in a private practice now and promised to make inquiries. The mail was slow and it seemed like we spent more time in a holding pattern than anything else.

Of Greg, there was no news. I wrote endlessly to Colonel Lard and General Moore. Lard never replied. Moore did, but he was cautious in what he said. I could tell he did not want to plant false hope. If Greg was a POW, the Japanese weren't talking. If he wasn't . . . I refused to think about it.

Some days I wondered if I was going around the bend, entering some state of denial that would soon grant me a one-way ticket to a nice quiet hospital where they keep people who live in a fantasy land of their own creation. Danny and Joy kept me grounded. So did the horses, especially when I got tossed, which happened every now and then. Aside from a few bruises here and there, I wasn't any worse for the wear.

I framed my favorite photographs from La Cava and hung them over my desk in the cottage. They were never easy to look at, even the ones without Greg in them, but they were a connection to the time that had changed my life forever. Looking at them was an immediate trip back to La Cava, to the heat and roar of the planes and the surf pounding on the beach while Greg and I made love. I could close my eyes and go there instantly and I took comfort in the fact the images were so vibrant. If he were truly gone, the memories would start to fade, wouldn't they? The vividness of my dreams – both day and night – had to mean he was still alive.

I framed Anderson's photo of Greg and me and set it on my bedside table. Every time I looked at it, I knew there would never be another man who came close. I would wait for him until my dying breath.

We had never talked about what might happen after the war, only what might happen the next day. Serving in a front area, doing what we did, didn't lend itself to planning a future with a cozy little house with a white picket fence. The only life we'd ever shared was based on barreling full-speed ahead into the unknown. Yet I couldn't let go of the feeling our futures were like threads in a tapestry, woven together as part of a larger pattern that not even distance and time could fray.

He was in my dreams every night. His smile. His presence as he entered a room. The sound of my name on his lips in our most intimate moments. I could smell the scent of his skin, could taste him on my tongue. More than once I woke, crying out as my body ached with need, only to find my bed empty except for a memory.

Tilly Murray, matriarch of the Murray clan and head housekeeper for both the main house and the cottage, saw Anderson's photo one day while she was cleaning my bedroom. Studying it, she'd looked at me and chuckled.

"Don't you worry, child," she said, "a man who looks at his woman like that, he'll ride through hell to get back to her."

He needed to ride faster, I thought.

 **XXX**

 **July 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

My latest project was Star Dust, a chestnut gelding with three white socks and an attitude. In spite of a pedigree that went back to Man O' War, he had proven so irascible on the track that his owner finally followed his trainer's advice and sold him. In spite of his beautiful form and powerful movement, it seemed Dust's entire purpose in life was to dislodge anyone who tried to ride him for longer than 10 minutes. William Harris and I agreed this was more the fault of unfortunate training than any flaw in his temperament. To say the creature had trust issues was an understatement and I was the one who got to convince him that a human on his back did not herald the coming of the apocalypse.

I called him Dust Devil when no one else was around, but we kind of liked each other. I'd been riding him almost daily for the last month and I hadn't come out of the saddle for four days in a row, which was a new record. To be honest, I looked forward to riding the half-ton of red dynamite. It required such absolute focus that there was no room for anything else and my mind could escape, at least temporarily, from the aching sense of loss that followed me everywhere.

The shadows of a mid-summer evening were starting to lengthen when 10-year-old Michael Murray vaulted the arena fence, a yellow paper fluttering in his hand.

"Miss Kate! Telegram come for you from a Mr. Gutterman!"

I reined Star Dust to an impatient halt and froze. I hadn't heard from Jim in weeks. He'd never sent a telegram before.

Dust bounced sideways, snorting and taking advantage of the sudden interruption to put on airs. I reined him in, carefully keeping my balance. My shoulder still ached from being tossed last week and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Ejecting riders seemed to be a stress relief valve for him, although he always acted concerned when I was laying in the dirt. I leaned down and took the paper from Michael's out-stretched hand.

I read the first three words before scalding tears blurred my vision.

"He's alive. POW."

I couldn't breathe. My heart pounded in a triumphant cadence that sent blood to my head in a dizzying rush, threatening to topple me from the saddle. I could feel myself shattering into a million iridescent crystals, light and heat destroying the demons that had haunted me since that horrible day in 1944. I wiped my eyes fiercely.

Greg was alive!

He. Was. Alive!

In my state of euphoria, I forgot I was sitting 16.2 hands above the ground. Dust dropped his head and started a counter-clockwise spin, the prelude to a buck. I shifted my balance and collected the horse. If I fell off now, I'd have to deal with the ignominy of trailing him around the area until he agreed to be caught again. When he settled, I focused on the rest of the message. There wasn't much.

"Omori camp, near Tokyo. Red Cross working on it. Sarah sends her love to you and Joy. Me too. Jim."

I had no idea what "Red Cross working on it" meant but it had to be good. They knew where he was. My heart was still beating double-time as I carefully re-folded the telegram. I sat very still, fingers clenched on the reins, trembling, treasuring the elation as it soared through me. Finally . . . after all this time . . .

Dust tossed his head and looked over his shoulder. I was suddenly aware of Michael still standing there.

"You all right, Miss Kate?"

"Yes," I said and swiped at my eyes again, doubting the boy believed a word I said with tears streaming down my face. "It's good news. Very good news. Is Danny in the barn?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you send him out here, please?"

The youngster raced away, setting off another volley of skittering dance steps from Dust. The creak of saddle leather and the clink of the bit between the horse's teeth were like a musical accompaniment to the joy pouring through me.

He was alive!

 **XXX**

On the porch of the main house, enjoying the evening from her rocking chair, Coretha Harris watched Kate ride the chestnut. The girl stuck on that red hellion like she was glued in the saddle. Coretha wondered how she'd gotten so lucky to make such a match for her grandson.

She smiled contentedly as Danny entered the arena, watched as Kate swung down into his arms. Even at this distance, she could see the girl's face was alight with happiness. Danny's expression mirrored her joy and he kissed her on the forehead before embracing her.

On the forehead?

Coretha frowned. As much time as they'd been spending together, she expected the two young people to be quite beyond that by now. Ah, well, Coretha expected they'd be announcing their engagement any day now, with a wedding by the holidays and word of her first great-grandbaby soon to follow.

 **XXX**

After discussing it with Danny, I decided not to tell anyone the news. It was too soon. There were still too many uncertainties. The war in Europe ended two and a half months ago but the fight against Japan seemed determined to drag on with no end in sight.

I had no idea what would happen once the war ended. Had Greg been injured? If he remained in Japanese captivity, there was no guarantee he'd come home alive. Japan hadn't signed the Geneva Convention and the papers were full of stories about atrocities committed on prisoners of war. Would he try to find me? Or after this much time would he think I'd presumed him dead and gone on with my life, leaving him to do the same?

A new swarm of demons rose, threatening, on the horizon. I firmly booted them away and sat down at my typewriter to write to Jim and Casey.

 **XXX**

 **Aug. 15, 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Joy celebrated her first birthday the week after the bombing of Nagasaki **.** All three generations of the Harris family insisted on throwing a party, complete with a cake baked with carefully rationed sugar.

Coretha, William and Audrey, Danny and I and at least half a dozen Murrays sang "Happy Birthday" while Joy stuck her fingers in the frosting and made a complete mess. News of Japan's surrender came over the wireless while we were eating. The war was over.

I leaned against the columns of the big house that night after supper, holding my sleeping daughter in my arms and looking up as the first stars sprinkled an indigo sky.

"It's over," I whispered. "Where are you? When are you coming home? We're still waiting."

 **XXX**

 **August 1945: Omori Prison Camp, Japan**

The Marines came for them and just like that, it was over. For some of the boys, Greg knew it would never be over, their minds and bodies were too damaged to ever leave the jungles but he limped out of the camp under his own power and never looked back.

From his bunk aboard the _USS Benevolence_ , his mind was clear and the single star that had sustained him all those months burned brighter than ever. The war was over. He was going back to the States. Kate was there. Somewhere.

"I hope you find her, mate," Robin McGregor said from his adjoining bed. "If she's even half as mad about you, the two of you were made for each other."

 **XXX**

 **September 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

I had taken to haunting the mailbox at the end of the long farm lane. After a month of agonized waiting, a reply finally came from Casey. He'd been in transit, moving from the Solomons back to the base at Pearl as an aide to General Moore. I ripped open the envelope while the dust from the postal carrier's truck still hung on the air and unfolded the letter with trembling fingers. It was dated two weeks earlier.

" _Katie – Greg was released from the Omori prison camp on Aug. 29. All I know is the Marines and Navy took the men out and they were transferred onto a hospital ship named The Benevolence. Greg was headed for the Naval Air Station at Alameda, Calif., then he'll go on to Washington, D.C. General Moore just left to meet him there. I sent a letter for Moore to give to Greg, telling him where to find you. The War Department has a tight hold on him right now so I don't know how long it will take. Don't go anywhere. Casey P.S. Dee sends her love and I do, too."_

Don't go anywhere? Where did he think I _would_ go? The early autumn sun was warm on my shoulders and I stood there, feeling rooted to that red Kentucky soil like I'd grown out of it. For the first time in months, it felt like the fates were in my favor. Greg was alive and soon enough he would know where to find me. My knees trembled and I pressed my back against the hickory tree. I closed my eyes and could hear his voice.

" _Try to stay out of the way, Cameron."_

No. I wasn't going anywhere.

 **XXX**

Three days after that, I opened the mailbox to discover a thick envelope addressed to Danny Harris. The return address was L. Halvorson, 473 West Chestnut St., Springfield, Illinois.

I whooped. If Laura was going to tell Danny she wasn't interested in seeing him again, it would hardly take as many sheets of paper as were obviously stuffed into the envelope. I took the letter to the main house, where Danny was going over accounts with his father in the farm office. Swallowing my elation for him, I quietly set it at his elbow, winked and left the room.

That evening at supper, all of the elder Harrises were baffled by Danny's sudden announcement that he was going to Springfield to visit a friend from the war. He didn't know how long he'd be gone.

 **XXX**

I gave Danny a ride to the station the next morning and waved as the train pulled away from the platform. He and Laura had spoken on the phone and judging from the sparkle in his eye, she was as happy about having him come to see her as he was.

Driving back through the bluegrass country of central Kentucky, I wondered for the millionth time if Greg and I would ever find each other. It had been three weeks since he was released from Omori and I'd heard nothing.

 **XXX**

 _For the first time in 20 months, I was a free man. I was back with the Marines in the States but Uncle Sam had such a tight grip on me, my life still wasn't mine to call my own. Something needed to give. Soon. - GB_


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27: Reunion**

 **October 1, 1945**

 **Washington, D.C.**

Lieutenant Colonel Greg Boyington sat at a crystal and china covered table in the dining room of the St. Regis Hotel. Waiters in starched uniforms delivered heaping plates of food and kept his whisky glass filled. Seated across from him, Brigadier General Thomas Moore elaborated on plans for a victory bond tour. A curvy brunette in a red cocktail dress at the adjoining table kept giving him coy looks. Greg wondered how soon he could get the hell out of there. Alone.

He'd been back in the United States for three weeks, been promoted practically before he stepped off the ship and while he wasn't arguing with clean uniforms and regular meals, the bureaucracy of the War Department was already gnawing at him.

Once they hauled him out of Japan, the medical and mental evaluations started. After the sawbones and head-shrinkers decided he was of sound mind and body, the intelligence debriefings began. Then there were endless ceremonies, banquets and parades. It was like being pecked to death by ducks – no matter which direction he turned, someone wanted him to do something.

"You need to be fitted for uniforms, sir."

"You have an appointment with the medical team, sir."

"A driver is coming to take you to the ceremony, sir."

"They're waiting for you to continue the debriefing, sir."

He didn't want to do any of it but they hadn't exactly given him a choice. More than once he'd been ready to take off in the middle of the night and go . . . where? The war was over, the Black Sheep were scattered to the wind. He didn't even know how many of the boys had come through it alive.

And Kate?

He never stopped thinking about her. She was the glowing spot in his heart that had gotten him through the last 20 months – a bright star on the horizon that had been his anchor.

He had no idea where she was.

She might be in the States even though she didn't have much family left here. She might have gone back to the United Kingdom or maybe she'd been assigned somewhere in Australia or New Zealand and gone native.

No one would leave him alone long enough to start looking for her. It wasn't like he could just take off and ignore the War Department. What would he say? "Sorry, Mr. President, I have to go look for the girl I fell in love with two years ago. I don't have any idea where she is so this could take a while. I'll get back to you."

Post-war euphoria was running high but even the Marine Corps would have something to say if their newest high profile war hero went AWOL. Greg figured his stock was pretty high right now but he still kept looking over his shoulder, expecting Colonel Lard to appear and court martial him for something he'd done years ago.

It probably didn't matter, he told himself. Kate must have thought he was dead. God knows everyone else had. The Japanese kept him a secret until the final days of the war. He imagined she'd shed her tears and moved on with her life. He couldn't blame her. He'd abandoned her at a very vulnerable time, although it had been through no fault of his own. The thought of the pain she must have endured ached in his heart like an open wound.

Surely she had married by now, if for no other reason than to provide security for the baby. He had no right to expect her to still be single after all this time. They'd never talked about a future together. If she thought he was gone forever, she'd move on. Kate was nothing if not practical and now she had a child to care for.

He sipped his whiskey. Her words before that final mission had echoed in his head for the last 20 months.

 _"I'll be waiting for you."_

She expected him to be gone four hours. It had been nearly two years. What kind of girl waited that long for a beat up fighter pilot who everybody thought was dead?

The woman in the red dress rose from her table and glided by on a wave of expensive perfume. She paused just long enough to drop her hotel key discreetly by Greg's glass. She gave him an inviting smile and left. He let the key lay where she'd dropped it.

"Don't worry about writing the speeches, we'll have a publicity agent do that," Moore was saying. "You'll just need to read them and let the people see an honest-to-God war hero. We'll meet with the agent tomorrow morning to go over your itinerary. Here's his card." He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Oh, I forgot to give you this earlier. Here." Producing a battered envelope, he handed it to Greg.

"Captain Casey asked me to make sure you got this. I don't know what it is but he said it's important."

Greg took the envelope. The handwriting on the front pulled him back through time to La Cava, to the endless requisitions and reports Larry Casey had processed for him. The envelope looked like it had either been caught in a rain storm or baptized in Scotch on its journey. Possibly both. He opened it. The letter was dated three weeks ago.

" _Greg – Kate waited for you."_

The words slammed through him, their impact like a lightning strike that burned everything else from his mind.

" _Kate waited for you."_

Moore's voice faded to a wordless hum. The bustle of the restaurant dimmed to background noise. All he could see was black ink on white paper, strokes of typewriter keys that held his future in their balance.

" _She never stopped believing you were alive. She damn near drove Lard crazy and I think Moore was ready to go find you personally, just to get her off his back."_

He could see her in his mind's eye. The images came with a vividness he could reach out and touch – the joi de vivre of her presence, laughing, trading insults with the men, warm and supple in his arms, meeting his demands with her own. Even during the months as a prisoner, those images never faded, as if being drawn from a wellhead that would never go dry. He blinked to clear his eyes.

" _She's living at a place called White Oak Farm in Kentucky. It's off Route 27 near Cedar Creek, south of Lexington. She's writing for a racing mag and doing something with horses for a stable there. The phone number –"_ The ink blurred into an unintelligible smudge and he blinked again. It wasn't his eyes this time. The ink remained smeared, courtesy of rain or alcohol. Damnit. He'd have to get a telephone operator to find the number.

Or he could just go there.

Kentucky wasn't that far away. If he caught a train yet tonight he could be there tomorrow afternoon. He could see her again, those gray eyes, that smile that spoke volumes without a word. To hold her, to breath the scent of her skin -

"Greg? Greg!" He was aware Moore had stopped talking and was looking at him, concern on his face. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She had waited for him. She had _waited_ for him.

After weeks of jumping through bureaucratic hoops, he was done. He felt as though he'd been jerked from the tumbling current that had controlled his every motion since being rescued and the direction of his life was suddenly in his own hands again.

"Never better, General." He stood, folded the letter and tucked it in his pocket. Tossing a handful of bills on the table to cover the meal, he said, "It's been good seeing you again. I'm leaving for Kentucky now."

"Kentucky? What the - ? Greg, wait! What about the victory bond tour?" Moore called out, half rising from his seat. "You're supposed to be at the White House on Tuesday for a ceremony with President Truman."

"Tell Harry I'll catch up with him later." Greg picked up the hotel key the brunette had left and tossed it to Moore. The other man caught it reflexively, confused.

"Go have dessert," Greg said. "I've got better things to do."

He threw a salute and walked out.

Moore watched him go, shaking his head. Some things never changed. The man still made his own rules.

 **XXX**

As the train rolled through the countryside of central Virginia, Greg stared out the window into the darkness. He could conjure the images just by thinking her name. The memories glowed from constant polishing – Kate, laughing as she splashed in the surf with Meatball, flipping the boys' teasing right back at them, giving him a vexed look when he told her she couldn't do something and finally, the warmth of her skin, the sound of her breathing as her body welcomed his.

Girl, woman, warrior, correspondent, companion, lover . . . mother.

Casey said she'd waited for him but that didn't guarantee what kind of reception he'd get when he finally found her. It was entirely possible the only reason she'd waited was so she could read him the riot act for leaving her alone and pregnant in the middle of a war zone and disappearing for two years.

He grinned in spite of it all. He could see the fury snapping around her like a storm, color rising in her cheeks as she drew herself up. God, how he wanted to see that again. He wanted her to be everything she'd been on that last sunlit tropical morning before it all went to hell. Outspoken. Confident. Beautiful, with that undefinable something that drew him like a magnet.

Two years was a long time. He didn't think she could still be the same girl he'd loved on La Cava, the girl who was probably the world's worst poker player but could ignite the air between them with a glance. There was a baby to think about now. That would change anyone. And she'd been alone, although if anyone could take care of herself, with or without a baby, it was Kate Cameron.

He wanted her to know she was what kept him alive for all those months. He had to see her again. Just one more time. Even if she did want to kill him.

 **XXX**

 **October 2, 1945**

 **White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

The trees on the hillsides blazed with scarlet and copper in the late afternoon sun. A breeze tossed burnished leaves around like so much confetti. The nights were colder now, frost lay in a silver web over the fields in the morning but afternoons still glowed with warmth.

Kate treasured the late day rides as Indian summer spun itself around her. On horseback, she could almost forget the questions that gnawed at her heart. Almost. Where was he? Was he all right? Had Moore given him Casey's letter? Did he know where to find her? Did he want to find her? The questions threatened to suffocate her and she was drawn tight with waiting and uncertainty.

The sun was dipping toward the hills as she rode Tuxedo Junction, a blood bay who showed great promise as a fox hunter in spite of a mediocre track career. He was her current favorite project, a mild-tempered creature who followed her around like a dog when given the chance. Star Dust had been sold but was still at the barn, awaiting the buyer who would pick him up in a few days.

The reins were carving sweat off Tuxedo's withers as she circled around the arena at a canter, enjoying the horse's smooth power. Lizzie appeared at the gate, bringing Joy for her afternoon ride. The little girl was kitted out in miniature riding breeches and a sweater, both made by Tilly, who believed a lady should always dress appropriately for the occasion, even if she was only a year old. Joy broke into a dimpled smile when she saw Kate.

Lizzie handed her up and Kate settled her on the hunt seat saddle in front of her.

"Pony!" Joy said enthusiastically. "Go! Fast!" She kicked her legs, which were sticking straight out to the sides.

"We're going. Don't kick. We'll go fast in a bit. Keep your heels down. There. Like that. Sit up straight. Good girl."

Kate turned Tuxedo off the rail and set him at a sedate walk. She let the little girl's fingers grip the reins, her own hands covering them.

"Here, silly, like this."

They made one circle around the arena and Kate put Tuxedo into a slow canter, much to Joy's delight. She was giggling with glee when a slight figure climbed the fence ahead of them. Nel Murray, one of the older girls of the endless Murray clan, waved, excited and breathless. Kate slowed Tuxedo to a walk and stopped.

"Hi Nel, what's up?"

"Miss Kate, there was a man at the house, asking for you. Tilly sent him out to the barn. I overheard and thought you'd want to know." Nel's head turned toward the far end of the arena and Kate could barely see a figure walking up the lane through the trees, taking the long way from the house to the barn.

She sighed. It was probably Star Dust's buyer, come early. The man was so excited he'd nearly driven her crazy with phone calls about the horse's training progress in the last few weeks. It would be just like him to show up three days before he was expected. He should have asked for Danny or William though. They handled the business transactions. She was just the hired help.

"Did he give his name?" Kate shifted in the saddle, annoyed at the interruption and reluctant to shorten her time with Joy. Danny could handle this. He was in the barn, helping Caleb untack Moonglow after their ride.

"No, ma'am." The look on the girl's face had gone dreamy. "He's an older man but he's sooo handsome."

Kate tried not to roll her eyes with impatience. Nel was at the age where she was given to swooning over just about anything wearing trousers.

"And oh, Miss Kate . . ." Nel's voice faded. "He . . . his . . ."

Kate looked sharply at the girl. Nel was staring at Joy like she was seeing her for the first time.

"What? Are you all right?"

The girl nodded as if struck dumb. Then her words burst out in a torrent.

"His eyes! His eyes are the same blue as Miss Joy's."

Kate's heart stopped. Her head snapped up and she stared across the arena where the man was closer now, backlit by the sun. His face was in shadows. Then Meatball flew out of the barn, barking his fool head off, and he turned toward the sound of the barking dog.

Recognition slammed into Kate like a battering ram. She'd seen it a thousand times in real life, a million times in her dreams – the set of his shoulders, the tip of his head as he turned toward her. She could hear his voice. _"Let's go, Cameron, I'm not getting any younger."_

"Take Joy."

Kate gathered up the child and tossed her to Nel, who barely had time to stretch out her arms before the little girl landed, giggling, against her shoulder.

Emotion rocked her in waves that threatened to topple her from the saddle. She sat, unable to move. Then her heart soared like an arrow released from a bow. She reined Tuxedo away from the fence and flew him across the arena. Her heart was in her throat, pounding in rhythm with the big horse's hooves.

Tuxedo skidded to a halt at the opposite fence just as the man reached it. He gripped the top rail and looked up. Kate froze, her knuckles white on the reins. Blood pounded into her head with a dizzying rush that was almost paralyzing in its intensity. She looked down into the face she'd been dreaming of for nearly two years.

"Cameron."

One word. Her name on his lips.

Her heart was too big for her chest. Surely she was going to shatter into a million pieces from the pressure. Wordlessly, she kicked her left foot out of the stirrup and flung her right leg over Tuxedo's withers. Her boots skimmed the rail and then his arms were around her. She sobbed with elation as she buried her face against his neck.

"I knew you'd come back," she whispered fiercely.

"Katie." His voice was raw, his arms so tight she could barely breathe. She was gasping when he gripped her shoulders and pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes.

He looked like he had that last morning on La Cava, only this time rays of late afternoon sun held him in their glow. It was that same ruggedly handsome face, a little leaner, a little more careworn, but the heat of his eyes and curve of his mouth sent electricity racing through her. Time shimmered, twisted. It was just yesterday she'd stood on the flight line, telling him she'd be waiting.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pinned her against the rail, his mouth claiming hers. The heat of his kiss seared like fire. She kissed him harder, letting him posses her as two years of pain and fear flamed into ash. His tongue brushed hers, setting off an overload of sensation that left her helpless. She tangled her fingers in his hair, never wanting to let go.

The kiss slowed and Kate reluctantly pulled back, needing air. Her fingers clenched on his sleeves. Neither of them spoke. They just stood there, washed in the autumn sunshine, leaves tumbling around them. Tuxedo stretched his neck over the fence and nibbled at Kate's hair. Without taking her eyes off Greg, she reached back and rescued her braid.

She touched his cheek, hardly daring to believe he was real. He'd come to her so often in her dreams, only to vanish with the sunrise.

"I love you," she said softly. "I never stopped loving you."

He stroked a hand along her face.

"I love you, too, Katie."

She didn't speak. Couldn't speak. He pulled her head against his chest, held her like he never wanted to let go. When he spoke, his voice had a broken edge.

"I was afraid you might not want to see me again . . . I'm sorry . . . for everything . . ."

" _You're_ sorry - are you insane?"

She didn't give him a chance to answer but kissed him again, slower this time. Her heart was bursting. His hands were around her waist and she lost herself in the heat of his presence. There was just him, alive and warm in her arms. Nothing else mattered.

Something bumped her leg. She ignored it, her senses filled only with the taste and scent of him. The bump came again, more persistent. She broke away and looked down.

"Meatball!"

"Meatball?" Greg looked at the dog as if seeing him for the first time, then dropped to a knee and the terrier threw himself into his arms. He looked up at her. "You brought him all the way back here?"

"The boys insisted," Kate said. Slowly, Greg rose. He kissed her again, Meatball leaping up and bouncing off them at random.

Her fingers brushed the insignia on his collar.

"Lieutenant colonel? They must have been really glad to get you back."

"Not nearly as glad as I am to be back, sweetheart."

Kate slowly became aware of Nel Murray standing nearby, holding Joy, a look of scandalized fascination on her face. Everyone knew Miss Kate was going to marry Mister Danny, it was just a matter of time.

Kate jerked herself back to the here and now.

"Nel, please find Danny and ask him to come out here." She was breathless. "I don't care what he's doing. Tell him it's important." The girl turned toward the barn when Kate stopped her. "Wait. Then run up to the house and tell Tilly to set another place for supper." Her voice was fierce with elation. "And tell Miss Coretha, Joy's daddy is back from the war."

Nel nodded dumbly, still staring, and Kate wondered if the girl would remember anything beyond the first instruction.

"And Nel?" Kate stepped toward her. "I'll take Joy."

Kate scooped the child onto her hip and turned to Greg. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She'd dreamed of this moment for so long and now that it was here, she was terrified.

Greg didn't move, his eyes locked on the little girl in her arms. Joy looked at him with solemn wide-eyed curiosity, one hand fisted in Kate's sweater.

"She's yours," Kate said quietly. "Ours."

When he didn't speak, she added, "You knew, didn't you, even though I hadn't told you?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "I knew. She's . . . Katie, she's perfect. . . you did this by yourself?"

"You were there for part of it," Kate said dryly. "Sarah was here when she was born. I'm sure she'd be delighted to tell you everything I said."

Tuxedo stuck his head over the fence and nuzzled Joy's sweater. She squealed happily, tiny hands reaching out for the big gelding's muzzle.

"Here." Kate handed her to Greg. Joy gazed at him with rapt attention as he settled her, a little awkwardly, in his arms.

"Elizabeth Joyce, this is your papa," Kate said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. She hastily blinked the tears away. Her heart was doing the too big for her chest thing again. She was going to die on the spot if it didn't stop.

Joy regarded Greg with smoky blue eyes gone wide. He smiled at her, his expression edged with a tenderness Kate had never imagined. Joy considered him, then beamed, giving him the full benefit of her dimple. Kate thought the stunned look on Greg's face was poetic justice. Now you know how it feels, she thought.

"Pony?" Joy turned her head from Greg to Tuxedo, with a look of growing suspicion.

"Papa," Kate corrected gently.

"Pony," Joy said, reaching a decision. She scowled. "Now! Fast!"

Greg laughed and the threatening thunderstorm on Joy's face faded at the sound.

"You are just like your mama. That's the same look I got when I interrupted her in the middle of something."

Joy regarded both adults, then fastened her eyes on Greg again.

"She's got your one-track mind," Kate said. "If you're around her longer than 10 minutes, you'll know exactly what I mean."

Greg wrapped his free arm around Kate and pulled her close. The three of them stood in the gathering dusk, with Meatball leaping around like a lunatic and Tuxedo making grabs at Kate's hair.

"Sweetheart, I plan on being around a lot longer than 10 minutes."

Joy pulled Greg's hat off and immediately dropped it. Meatball grabbed it and took off. From the barn, Kate could hear shouting and running feet. Apparently Nel had managed to deliver her message to Danny.

"Welcome home," she said and kissed him one more time before chaos broke out.

 **XXX**

On the front porch in her rocking chair, Coretha Harris frowned. She saw the truck stop at the end of the lane and the man get out. She watched him walk up the lane, a military man for sure, no question from his uniform and bearing. She watched as Kate had raced across the arena and threw herself off the horse into his arms.

There'd been a great deal of kissing and not on the forehead either. _Those_ were the kind of kisses that lead to great-grandbabies.

Then Danny came out of the barn, with Michael and old Caleb and there'd been a lot of hand shaking and back-slapping and now everyone was smiling. The man was holding Kate's little girl and even a blind person could see they looked just like each other. Well now. This was a fine kettle of fish.

Behind her, Nel Murray burst, panting, through the door.

"Miss Coretha, ma'am?"

"Yes, child, what is it?"

"Miss Katie, she asked me to tell you," the girl paused, gulping for breath, then continued, "to tell you little Joy's daddy's done come home from the war." Message delivered, she frowned. "I reckon she and Mister Danny ain't gonna get married now."

"No." Coretha sighed, then chuckled. "I reckon you're right. I don't think they ever were."

 **XXX**

Supper that evening was one for the record books, Kate thought. She couldn't keep her eyes off Greg, almost afraid he would vanish if she looked away. As a result, she nearly spilled the potatoes in her lap. Joy's behavior was much the same but no one held a toddler accountable for spilled potatoes. Under the table, Meatball enjoyed the fruits of their distraction.

Seated next to Coretha in White Oak's formal dining room, Greg turned on the charm and the older woman didn't stand a chance. Danny just happened to mention that Laura Halvorson would be coming for an extended visit next month. William and Audrey looked like spectators at a tennis match, trying to keep up with the flow of conversation as it vaulted recklessly from the South Pacific to Pennsylvania to Japan to Washington to Illinois and back to Kentucky.

After Lizzie cleared the dessert plates, Kate rose. She thanked the Harrises for the meal and told them Greg would be staying with her at the cottage tonight. She met Coretha's look, daring the older woman to challenge the propriety of it. She didn't.

Kate turned to Lizzie.

"Would you take Joy tonight?" she asked quietly. The little girl often stayed overnight at the boisterous Murray house on the estate when Kate had to travel for her job or when she got home so late the child had already fallen asleep amidst the collection of Murray offspring.

"We'd love to have her, Miss Kate."

"Good. Come with us to get her things." Kate lifted Joy from her high chair. Greg took her out of her arms and Joy went willingly to him, fascinated with this new person in her life.

As Kate turned to leave the room, Coretha caught her by the wrist. The older woman winked.

"Oh Katie, I would have waited for that, too."

 **XXX**

In the cottage, Lizzie gathered the little girl's pajamas, a change of clothes and her stuffed cloth dog.

Kate was still in boots and breeches. She'd been so caught up with Greg's arrival there'd been no time to change and she'd gone straight from the barn to supper, which was often her norm. She pulled off her boots and announced, "I'm getting cleaned up. I smell like a horse."

"I hadn't noticed," Greg said.

She thought that was entirely possible. He was still holding Joy and the mutual admiration society had clearly been gavelled into session. Joy was so enchanted by him, she hadn't even fussed about having her ride cut short that afternoon. Although she'd made several hopeful references to ponies during supper, she seemed willing to let it go without a fight. For once.

"There's your mama." Greg pointed to one of the photos over Kate's desk. Joy's eyes followed his finger to a picture of Kate kneeling in front of a Corsair, Meatball at her side. She broke into a huge smile.

"Meeble," she announced. "Meeble!"

"Meatball," Kate translated. "Those two are inseparable. I don't know if she doesn't recognize me or just prefers Meatball. Will you be all right with her while I take a shower?"

Greg nodded. "She's not very big. How much trouble can she be?"

Kate thought Greg deserved to see his daughter in a full-blown Boyington temper but emotion was running high enough already and she wasn't about to tempt fate.

"You're her father and she's named after two generations of Cameron women, what do you think?" she said. She lingered, her hand on his arm, still afraid to let him out of her sight. "If you run into trouble, Lizzie's in the kitchen. I won't be long."

She flew upstairs to the shower, yanking her breeches off as she went, hopping on one foot and nearly losing her balance. Finally, she got her clothes off, threw taps open and jumped under the water. In terms of fast showers, she thought it was second only to the first time she'd used the Black Sheep's outdoor facilities. After toweling off, she pulled on the faded flannel shirt she slept in, loosely belted her worn robe and, barefoot, returned to the living room.

Greg was in a chair by the fireplace, Joy on his lap, her eyes glued to him while he told her a story. The fire Tilly had laid earlier that day was crackling softly. Meatball sprawled on the hearth rug.

Kate paused in the doorway, another tidal wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Greg's return had banished the aching spot in her heart that had been her dark companion since that awful morning in 1944. Now, seeing him with his daughter was beyond comprehension. He probably didn't know any more about babies than she had last August but he was making a fine job of it. The little girl watched him with wide eyes. Greg said something Kate couldn't hear and accompanied it with a hand gesture, wigging his fingers horizontally, like running legs. Joy giggled. Kate stepped into the room in time to hear her carefully repeat, "Rat? Rat!"

"And when your mama found the rat in her bed, everyone on the base heard her yelling. I bet you've heard her say it, too, it's one of her favorite – "

 _Oh bloody hell,_ Kate thought. It had clearly been a bad idea to leave the two of them alone together. Greg had no idea what that child was capable of.

"Do _not_ say anything to her you don't want to hear back!" she warned, trying to look severe. Greg laughed. Joy looked at her mother and giggled again.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Kate narrowed her eyes at them both. "You should have heard what she said at supper a few nights ago. I guess she was out by the arena the last time Dust Devil **–** Star Dust **–** tossed me off. William nearly choked on his soup and I thought Coretha was going to have a stroke." Headlights cut across the room's windows. "Lizzie! Your dad's here to drive you home."

The girl appeared, tucking Joy's clothes into a small traveling satchel. Greg rose, kissed his daughter softly on the top of her head and with obvious reluctance, handed her into Lizzie's arms.

"She is exactly like you," he said. He watched the taillights fade in the distance, then closed the cottage door.

Kate shook her head.

"I don't think she's anything like me – she's got your eyes. She even got your dimple and don't tell me that's not going to be trouble when she turns 16. She won't take no for an answer, she's not afraid of anything. If you give her a choice between a pony and a horse she wants the horse every time. God forbid you tell her she can't do something - "

He wrapped his arms around her, interrupting her litany.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like you."

Kate pressed her face against his chest and inhaled. He felt and smelled exactly the way she'd remembered him during all those long empty nights and the memories hit her with physical impact – the intensity of their loving, of things said and unsaid. Suddenly, his presence was overwhelming. He'd only been back in her life for a matter of hours and they'd been surrounded by the joyful exuberance of the Harrises and Murrays the whole time. The hugging, congratulating, back-slapping, toasting and general mayhem of the evening faded, leaving a vast empty space between them that was filled with the echoes of those lost years.

Now they were truly alone together and she found herself hesitant, afraid this fragile new reality would burst like a soap bubble and she'd awake, alone in the dark.

Suddenly awkward, she stepped back. Greg read the conflict on her face and released her.

"Nightcap?" he asked.

She turned and picked up the bottle of whisky on her desk.

"I only have one glass in here," she said apologetically, pouring and handing him the crystal tumbler.

"Do you always drink alone?"

"No," she whispered. "You were always here with me."

He took the bottle and led her to the couch by the fire. She curled against him, her fingers twined through his.

"Talk to me, Cameron," he said. Hunger shone in his eyes, the need to know about her life after he had been severed from it.

She told him about the final days on La Cava, about living with Don's parents in Philly, working for the Enquirer, Joy's birth and moving to Kentucky. About the endless letters that flew back and forth across the South Pacific between her, Jim, Casey, Dee, Sarah and General Moore. He told her a little about the last 20 months, about being moved from camp to camp, about the Marines coming to free the men at Omori. She let him talk with interrupting.

The wireless was playing softly and Harry James' music drifted on the firelight.

" _Kiss me once and kiss me twice, then kiss me once again . . ."_

"Jim thought I was Section 8 because I said you were alive," she said. "He said you weren't and I said you were and then we agreed to disagree. He was great. Him and Casey and all of them."

"Did the boys know you were . . . did they know about Joy?"

She smiled to hear him say the name.

"Yeah, they all knew before I left." She shifted to look into his face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I should have, I just wasn't sure and then when I was sure, I didn't know how to tell you and then," she choked back emotion, "and then it was too late."

"Sweetheart, you don't owe me any apologies. I knew. At least I thought I did . . . I hoped . . ."

She sat up in surprise.

"You hoped?"

"Yeah. It was the only way you could have been more beautiful."

 _"You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you, or just how empty they all seemed without you . . ."_

Another wave of unexpected, paralyzing emotion swept over her. She shook it off and twisted her fingers into the front of his shirt.

"Greg Boyington, you are the most impossible man. I was half scared out of my mind, half happier than I'd ever been in my life. It wasn't anything I'd planned for. I knew everything was going to change and . . ."

Greg's arms were strong around her.

"None of us got what we planned for that day, sweetheart. When I realized the Japanese were going to have me for a long time, thinking about you and the baby were what kept me sane. I could see you when I closed my eyes at night. I knew you were out there, somewhere. You and our child." He paused. "I figured you'd given me up for dead and moved on."

"No," she whispered. "I knew you'd come back. Even when no one knew where you were."

A log tumbled in the hearth grate and sparks shot upward like a swarm of fireflies. Greg's laugh was low.

"Jim was right, you were Section 8."

"Smart ass."

She laid her head on his chest and gazed into the fire. She didn't know what would happen now and was reluctant – again – to look beyond the moment.

"Did Lard ever find out who you were?" His voice cut into her thoughts.

"Not until the day I walked into his office and told him off about not looking hard enough for you."

"You called Lard on the carpet?"

"Mmmmm. I did. Yelled. Slammed the door and everything."

He chuckled.

"Bet he loved that."

"He acted like he'd seen it all before. Can't imagine when."

" _. . . it's been a long, long time."_

The song ended, the last few notes trickling into the darkness. They sat, not speaking, as the fire burned to embers.

Greg tipped her face up and kissed her. The kiss was gentle, demanding nothing. Kate's hesitation fell away with the heat of his mouth. Her lips parted and she felt the familiar wanting start to rise, the need to lose herself in mutual possession where the only thing that mattered was the moment. She stood.

"Come with me."

She took his hand and lead him up the stairs. After the firelit living room, the overhead electric light in the bedroom was too harsh. She turned it off and lit the kerosene hurricane lantern atop the dresser instead. The flame's glow wrapped the room in shadows.

Kate blew out the match and as she turned, Greg caught her wrist, held her motionless. With his other hand, he tipped her face toward the light. He studied her, pushed her hair back, traced his fingers over her cheeks and down her neck.

"What are you doing?" She lost herself in the color of his eyes, dark in the flickering light.

"It's impossible," he said. "You haven't changed at all."

He untied the robe and slid his hand under the soft flannel of her shirt, caressing the curve of her thigh and hip. His hand stopped when he discovered she was completely nude underneath.

"Lord, Kate, if I'd known this we wouldn't have spent so much time downstairs." She heard the need in his voice and knew it was more than physical. He eased her robe off, unbuttoned the shirt and slid it over her shoulders, rough hands caressing bare skin.

She undressed him slowly, her fingers singing with memory as they stroked the hard planes of muscle across his chest and shoulders, remembering.

"What's this?" She traced a jagged scar on his bicep.

"Courtesy of the Empire of Japan."

She couldn't touch him enough. She ran her hands down his back and squeezed his hip.

"I missed your butt."

"I hope you missed more than that, sweetheart."

He stroke her outer thigh and she winced.

"What's that?"

She turned toward the light, and he studied the horseshoe-shaped bruise cast in fading purple.

"I got tossed off a horse last week. Then I got stepped on."

"I can't leave you alone for a minute."

She smiled. It was impossible not to.

"I wouldn't advise it."

He tugged her shirt completely off, then walked her backwards until she toppled onto the bed and drew him down on top of her.

Kate felt like she was giving herself to him for the first time. The months in the saddle at White Oak left her lithe and trim but she'd born a child and there was no disguising the added curve of hip and fuller swell of breast. His hands rediscovered her slowly, deliberately, with the same blunt strength that had always marked their loving. He knew where to let his touch linger, how much exquisite pressure would leave her gasping.

The heat of his touch was affirmation. He was here and real in her arms, not a phantom who would vanish to leave her trembling in the dark. The dreams that had kept her awake on so many nights exploded into reality as he drove her slowly to the edge of control.

Biting her lip, she shifted away from his hand at the last possible moment, unwilling to let herself go yet. She wanted him balanced on that same glowing edge of oblivion when she abandoned herself to him.

"Stop," she gasped. "Not yet. God. I forgot what you do to me."

"That's just the beginning." The low growl of his voice sent tremors through her.

Kate ran her hand across his belly, then down his back, his skin smooth against her palms. She cradled his hip then let her hand stroke the back of his thigh, feeling muscles tense and flex under her fingertips. She moved back to his hip, pulling him closer.

He pressed hard against her, his need undeniable. She heard his breath catch and smiled against his neck, keeping her fingers deliberately light and slow, caressing the hard lines of his back and thighs. The clean musk of his skin was driving her crazy. She wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer.

She lowered her hand and stroked the hard silk of his length. He groaned and the guttural sound sent arousal rippling through her, hot and demanding. She felt it echoing through him, a mutual possession that defied the world to ever separate them again.

Greg caught her wrists and rolled her onto her back. He kissed her, his lips a whisper against hers, as she wrapped her legs around him. All the pain and uncertainty she had carried since Jan. 3, 1944, vanished, driven out as he took her with the unarguable intensity he brought to everything he did. It _had_ been a long time, and she winced under the demand of his penetration. He slowed, eased into her as her body welcomed his, molten under him.

He wasn't rough but he wasn't gentle either and she knew he was obliterating the years of loss and pain as well. He was everything she remembered - heat and strength and that incredible ability to give as he took. She answered him with feelings that had been too long denied, letting him drive her past the point of conscious thought. Her body matched his, not longer knowing where she ended and he began.

It was almost unbearable, an exquisite agony that consumed her and pulled her into a vortex of shared sensation. Her body spasmed with the intensity of the climax, pleasure ripping through her, knowing they possessed each other body and soul. She shuddered under him, calling his name, and pulled him with her into the abyss.

 **XXX**

Greg pulled the quilt up over both of them. Kate shoved it back off.

"For the love of God, woman, are you trying to freeze me to death?"

She laughed.

"I grew up in North Dakota, remember? This isn't cold."

"This is cold." He jerked the quilt back up. Kate acquiesced and stuck one leg out. With her head nestled on his chest, she twined the fingers of her right hand with his left. They lay, unspeaking, as the clouds chased across the moon outside the window.

"What are you going to do next?"

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have to give me a few minutes."

"You really are a smart ass." She couldn't keep her lips from twitching. God, she had missed this man and his impossible sense of humor. "That's not what I meant." She paused. "Where will you go now? Are you staying in the Corps?"

"It would appear that way. They've promoted me and this time I didn't have to call Admiral Nimitz to make it happen."

"So you'll be leaving soon? To go on this victory bond tour?"

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft hiss of flame in the lantern. He rolled toward her on an elbow and brushed her hair back from her face. His eyes were intense in the soft light.

"Do you trust me, Cameron?"

Kate's mind spun back in time. He'd asked her that once, literally years ago, before she got into that airplane with him.

"Yes." Her voice was as breathless as it had been on that warm South Pacific evening. God help her, she trusted him.

"I love you." She started to reply but he laid a finger over her lips. "I don't have any idea where I'm going next but I want you and Joy with me." He cupped her face with his hand. "I want you with me as my wife, Kate. Will you marry me?"

"You . . ." she choked, swallowed, tried again. "You want to marry me?"

Her mouth went dry and her heart leaped as every cell in her body exploded in euphoria. She was speechless. Life with him would never be traditional, probably never be peaceful or anything resembling normal. But they would be together, all three of them – four, counting Meatball - and that was all that mattered.

He arched his eyebrows and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The heat of his eyes was undeniable. It was the same look that that driven her to distraction more than once after they first met.

"We belong together, sweetheart. If I ever did anything right, it was falling in love with you."

Kate's heart pounded like a trip hammer. She was getting used to the sensation. It seemed to be the new normal.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes!"

He pulled her into his arms and the demons were vanquished forever.

 **XXX**

 _Editor's note: There's one chapter left! I can't let this end without wrapping it up and putting a bow on it. It's the chapter I should have written to end "Autumn 1945" but didn't get it done._


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28: Happily ever after**

 **Five weeks later**

 **Early November, 1945**

 **Kentucky**

Kate and Greg were married on a cider-crisp Indian summer afternoon in the country church at Stone Cross, near White Oak Farm.

Sarah arrived three days before the wedding and Jim appeared with a day to spare, the ink barely dry on his honorable discharge from the Marine Corps. Kate was ecstatic to see her sister and delighted Sarah and Jim's relationship had endured the storm-tossed final months of the war. She privately thought they were headed to the altar, too, as soon as Jim got around to it, but kept that to herself. Jim hugged her and clapped Greg fiercely on the back, then hugged Kate again and muttered, "Damn, darlin', you were right after all."

Casey and Dee showed up the morning of the ceremony. They'd been married in August, about five minutes after Japan signed the official surrender papers aboard the _USS Missouri_. Well, they _had_ agreed to wait until the war was over. Dee and Kate flew into each other's arms, both talking at once. They hadn't seen each other since the day Kate left La Cava in January of 1944. The two girls kissed each other on the cheeks, then Casey kissed Kate and Dee kissed Greg and both Casey and Dee hugged Joy, who was delighted to have so many happy people around her. Dee was vibrant with her first pregnancy, a bump just starting to show, and there was a great deal of congratulating and back-slapping among the men.

"You have no idea what you're in for," Greg told Casey. "Kate and I could loan you Joy for a few days if you want practice. It's like keeping track of the Black Sheep in miniature. The amount of trouble she causes is totally out of proportion to her size."

Bobby and Ellen Anderson arrived with their own obvious good news.

"The doctor says its twins," Ellen said, resting a hand on the curve of her belly. "They're due in December."

TJ was there, single, but traveling with Hutch and his girl, Victoria. They'd met up in Pennsylvania and all come in on the same train.

Harold and Caroline French, along with Don and Helen, drove down from Philadelphia, and Bobby Boyle and Jerry Bragg showed up in a rattle-trap '36 Plymouth that was smoking like a Corsair after a bad mission. Hutch said he'd be happy to take a look at it and Victoria, rolling her eyes and laughing, drug him firmly into the church. Greg told Bragg to park it far enough away that if it caught fire when no one was looking, at least it wouldn't take anything else with it.

Even Andy Micklin was there, sporting a fresh buzz cut and a plump, cheerful woman on his arm. When Boyle teased him, Micklin snarled, "You think you college boys are the only ones who know how to show a lady a good time?" His date, whose name was Evelyn, insisted on meeting every single one of the Black Sheep and if Micklin's eyes got a little misty to see they'd all survived, no one mentioned it.

General Moore sent his regrets and a case of Scotch carefully wrapped in sheets of the New York Times with Kate's stories and photos on them.

The groom and all of the Black Sheep were in full dress uniform for the occasion. Several of them had shown up at White Oak before going to the church and Miss Tilly, the Harris' housekeeper, laid waste with laundry starch and shoe polish. Earlier that morning, TJ had been wandering around without a shirt. When Kate questioned him, he said Tilly ordered him to take it off so she could iron it. From the looks of it, she'd worked over a few of the other boys, too. Ties were snug and smooth, collars crisp and shoes polished to a reflective shine.

Dee and Sarah, Kate's matron and maid of honor, respectively, finally pulled her away from the reunion taking place in the church yard and helped her get dressed in the church basement.

"I wanted to elope," Kate said, pulling on silk stockings, "but Greg wouldn't have it. He said for once we were going to do the traditional thing and he was going to marry me in a church in front of God and everybody. He even sent me to Lexington to buy a dress. Told me not to come home without one. I think he was afraid I'd show up in riding breeches."

Sarah and Dee's exchanged glance said they agreed with Greg's assessment.

Dee fastened the row of tiny pearl buttons that closed the back of the ivory lace-over-satin gown. The dress was simply cut, its lines emphasizing Kate's curves and the soft rose blush of her complexion.

"You're beautiful." Sarah kissed her sister's cheek. "You're absolutely radiant. I am so happy for you and Greg, after. . . everything . . ." She waved her hands helplessly.

"Thanks, Sair," Kate said softly. "I never dreamed when I took that assignment it would come to this." She remembered sitting in the smoky pub in Edinburgh, telling her editor she'd accepted the South Pacific assignment. The last two and a half years washed over her in a flood of memories that encompassed not only herself and Greg but her sister and her best friend as well. The war had pushed all of their lives in directions none of them could have anticipated.

Dee finished the last button and stepped around to survey Kate with a critical eye. Kate was reminded of the night Dee, Laura and Ellen helped her dress and do her hair for Don's party, the night Greg made it clear how he felt about her.

"Um, Kate?" Dee's tone changed and Kate saw the questioning look in her eye. "I know every bride is beautiful on her wedding day but you really are glowing. Is there anything you want to tell us?"

Kate shook her head.

"No," she said firmly. "I think we'd better go up – "

"Katherine Christine – you are still the worst liar I know. I've seen that look before, on La Cava . . . are you . . .?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Kate couldn't contain her smile. "Yeah. I am. Lizzie cooked breakfast for us this morning and I about lost it over the eggs. Guess it doesn't matter if they're powdered or fresh. I couldn't stand eggs for the first three months with Joy."

"God, that was fast," Dee said and hugged her, all the while trying and failing to look scandalized. "Greg's only been here for a month. They know what causes that, you know."

"I think it happened the first night he was here," Kate said. "He didn't . . . we didn't . . . oh hell! I'm going to be a respectable married woman in an hour, don't lecture me about condoms. Besides, you're a fine one to talk, Mrs. Married Three Months But Four Months Pregnant." When Dee's eyebrows shot off her face, Kate added, "You're not the only one who can do the math."

"I hope it's not something in the water around here," Sarah muttered. "You, Dee, Ellen. I'm sticking with Scotch, just in case." When both girls rounded on her, she held up a palm. "Don't lecture me about condoms either!"

In keeping with tradition, the girls made sure Kate went into the ceremony with something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

Kate teased _something old_ should be her favorite pair of leather boots, the ones she'd worn on La Cava.

"You're not serious, are you?" Dee hissed. She cast a surreptitious look at Kate's feet, which were encased in sleek pumps.

"God only knows," Sarah muttered. "One of us should watch her so she doesn't change at the last minute." Sarah rummaged through the small flannel jewelry pouch she'd brought with her. "Here. Something old." She pinned a brooch encrusted with pearls and crystals to the bodice of Kate's gown. "It was our Grandma Cameron's. She would have loved Greg." Claire Cameron had been known for a wild streak that lasted until her death at age 97 and Sarah and Kate privately joked that Kate inherited her drinking ability directly from her.

They agreed _something new_ was the set of lingerie Kate bought to go under her gown. They were a soft shell pink that Sarah said reminded her of a South Pacific sunset.

"Like they'll stay on long enough for him to notice," Dee muttered.

"He'll notice," Kate grinned. "Trust me."

When they got to _something borrowed_ , they all had a good laugh. Kate had made a specialty out of borrowing clothes for years but was at a loss when it came to her wedding day. Dee loaned her a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

"In all the years I've known you, you have never had a handkerchief when you needed one," she said.

Something blue was easier. The lacy garter Sarah gave Kate was woven through with ribbon the shade of Greg's eyes. Kate slid it around her thigh, then smoothed down the tea-length skirt of her gown just as the bells began to ring, calling for the ceremony to start.

 **XXX**

The bells pealed, their joyous notes cascading out of the church steeple to echo across the surrounding hills. Arrangements of autumn flowers from the Harris' garden splashed the altar with shades of topaz and scarlet and sun sparkled through the church's tall, mullioned windows, gilding the interior with light.

After much discussion, it was decided since Kate's parents were no longer living, Jim and Casey, as Greg's executive officers, would walk her down the aisle.

Jim escorted Sarah to the front of the church, followed by Casey with Dee. With both girls ensconced near the altar, the men returned to meet Kate.

"This is your last chance to run off with me, darlin'," Jim said with a wink. "Not too late to change your mind."

Kate squeezed his hand.

"What part of no don't you understand, Gutterman?"

Kate took each of their arms and, heart pounding as the pianist played Pachelbel's "Canon in D," walked slowly down the aisle of the packed church. With Dee and Sarah at the altar, and the Black Sheep, the Harrises, Murrays and Frenches seated in the pews, the little chapel was bursting at the seams with family. She kissed each of the boys lightly on the cheek, then turned to Greg and took his arm.

He was stunning in his dress uniform, clean shaven, hair combed and looking as serious as if he were being hauled up on court martial. When Kate slipped her arm through his, he broke into the rogue's grin she loved so well. Her heart nearly burst with happiness as they stepped up in front of the minister.

In the front pew, Joy clambered away from Lizzie to sit between TJ and Helen. The little girl was wearing a blue satin dress sewn by Tilly. Where White Oak's housekeeper had found the fabric, Kate had no idea. Not only did it match the child's eyes, it was proving resilient to the nonstop motion and activity that usually reduced her clothes to wrinkled tatters. Like mother, like daughter, Kate thought more than once. As she watched, Joy wiggled restlessly, then climbed onto TJ's lap and settled herself with obvious satisfaction. TJ looked surprised but pleased and put his hands around her little waist to hold her securely.

Even Meatball was there, scrubbed to a state of unnatural whiteness and sitting quietly on the floor next to Don, who knew the dog well enough not to leave anything to chance and had a firm grip on his leash. A small flower arrangement was affixed to his collar.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" the minister asked. Kate thought this was a rather unnecessary question and from the look in Greg's eye, he did too. As if she needed anyone's permission.

"We do!" the Black Sheep called out in a boisterous chorus. Meatball barked. After all, she'd been _his_ girl for the last two years.

Kate laughed and felt Greg's arm shaking under hers. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her again. This man. This day. These people, joining them to celebrate their love. The tapestry of her life and Greg's was weaving itself together again, the ragged gap that had separated them disappearing as the threads reunited, stronger than ever.

"Dearly beloved," the minister began, "we are gathered here today, in the presence of God and these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in holy marriage . . ."

The minister's voice faded into the background. Greg held her eyes and she remembered the first thing he ever said to her, that hot blue gaze taking her breath away as he lifted her up out of the dirt.

 _"Please forgive my dog. He has manners but they're all bad."_

Memories flashed through her mind in quick succession.

" _Is there any problem you can't solve with alcohol?"_

" _Yeah, sweetheart, I'm looking at it."_

"Our scripture today is taken from the 13th chapter of Corinthians," the minister intoned. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast . . ."

" _The press we've had out here before never got anything right."_

 _"Do I look like the press you've had out here before?"_

"Love always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

" _Anything for you, Boyington."_

" _Is that a promise?"_

Yes. It had been, even though she hadn't known the depth of it then.

" _Cameron, you're giving me an entirely different view of the press."_

" _That's because you've never seen the press in a towel before."_

"Therefore, if any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

Kate thought anyone stupid enough to get between her and Greg at this point deserved what they got. The church went silent, even the breeze stopped its lazy sighing through the windows as if challenging anyone to speak. No one did.

"We celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and are here to witness their decision to commit themselves to one another. Love is a quality of spirit but marriage is a life's work . . . " The minister's voice faded again. Greg squeezed her hand, sending her mind sailing back through time.

The night of Don's party, the heat of his body as he kissed her in front of everyone, claiming her as his. The morning after, waking up in his bunk, his hand on her leg.

" _Did we . . .?"_

 _"If we had, sweetheart, you'd remember it."_

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Greg arched his eyebrows. His grin got wider. The minister began the vows and Kate wrenched her mind back to the present.

"I take you, Katherine Christine Cameron, to be my wife . . ." Greg's voice was clear and low. He slid the gold band, beautiful in its simplicity, over the third finger of her left hand. She was his. She'd been his even before either of them knew it.

 _That terrifying day when she'd thrown herself into the flaming wreckage of Jim's plane, thinking it was Greg. The blood and smoke and sweat, the look on his face when he'd taken her arms._

" _Damnit Kate, I love you."_

". . . to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, " he continued, voice quietly steady. "As long as we both shall live."

" _I want all of you, Katie, don't hold back."_

" _I'm yours. All of me. Always."_

She felt herself flush hot and choked back a strangled cough. Why had her mind chosen _that_ particular memory? She lost herself in his eyes, her smile mirroring his, as she began her vows.

"I take you, Gregory Boyington, to be my husband . . ."

The Solomons. The Scotch. The men. The planes. The missions. The discovery. The loving. The fear. The loss. The heart stopping joy of reunion. It all spun through her mind as she spoke the words. The future stretched in front of them, sparkling with possibility.

"By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss the bride." The minister was beaming. If the Empire of Japan hadn't put them asunder, Kate didn't think anything else stood a chance.

Greg pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a thoroughness that had the Black Sheep cheering. The pianist struck the first notes of "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring," and they swept down the aisle and into the autumn sunshine.

 **XXX**

The celebration moved to the main house at White Oak, where the Harrises pulled out all the stops for a wedding dinner. Sugar-cured ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, greens, buttermilk biscuits and cornbread muffins were followed by a three-tiered wedding cake with two small wooden Corsairs, hand-carved by Caleb Murray, tilted side-by-side as if in flight atop the frosting.

"Looks like you got a new wingman," Jim said, raising his glass in a toast as Kate and Greg cut the cake. "Hope she's as willing to save your butt as we were."

"I'd say my butt is in good hands," Greg replied. Unable to resist, Kate slid her hand down his backside and squeezed.

Greg brushed his lips along her ear and whispered, "Keep that up, sweetheart, and we'll be leaving this party early."

A trio of local musicians set up in the front hall and under Tilly's watchful eye, the furniture was pushed back and the rugs rolled up. Light and music spilled from the tall windows into the evening as the Black Sheep danced with everyone from Kate to Coretha Harris. The latter had a tendency to pinch backsides when she thought no one was watching. Don said he wouldn't be able to sit down for a week.

With the boys in uniform and the girls in colorful civilian dress, alcohol flowing and music playing, the atmosphere was so much like the reckless parties in the Sheep Pen, all Kate had to do was close her eyes to return to the South Pacific. She could almost hear the surf on the beach and catch the scent of aviation fuel on the breeze.

Jim whisked a giggling Joy into his arms and whirled her around the impromptu dance floor.

"Be careful," Kate warned him. "Or you and Sarah will end up with one of your own before you're ready."

"You're a fine one to talk." Jim eyed her speculatively and lowered his voice. "I've seen that look before, Kate, you're more than just a beautiful bride. Does Greg know yet?"

"Not. One. Word." Kate arched her eyebrows warningly.

One at a time, the boys danced Joy around the room until Lizzie finally took the little girl, sleepy and un-protesting, off to bed. TJ and Helen were enchanted with each other and kept disappearing outside. Don rolled his eyes and pretended not to notice. Nel Murray was enjoying the attentions of both Bobby and Jerry.

There were toasts to Greg and Kate, to the couples who were recently married, to Danny Harris and Laura Halvorson, who were to marry soon, and to Jim and Sarah and Hutch and Victoria, just because it seemed like the thing to do. Andy Micklin even lifted a glass and toasted them damn college boys and the sainted women who put up with them.

Anderson went down on one knee and balanced Kate on his leg while she hiked up her skirt so Greg could slide the garter off amidst much whistling. He flipped it over his shoulder and TJ grabbed it in mid-air before it sailed into the punch bowl. Kate tossed her bouquet and the girls did a little strategic maneuvering to make sure Helen caught it.

Around 2 in the morning, someone made a final toast to Meatball and everyone stumbled off to bed. Ellen, Dee and Victoria poured their boys into their cars, along with several of the other Black Sheep, and headed back to the hotel in town. Greg and Kate walked slowly through the chilly autumn night to the groundskeeper's cottage, arms around one another, her head on his shoulder. At the door, he scooped her into his arms and carried her across the threshold, then let her lead him quietly upstairs.

In the dark of their room, she felt his breath warm against her skin as he unhooked the tiny buttons and slid the gown from her shoulders to pool around her ankles. Quickly, wordlessly, she undressed him, drawing him down onto the bed with her as the endless aching need to give and possess ignited between them.

He took her body with a sweet intensity that bound her soul to his as surely as the minister's words that afternoon. As she rose in pleasure under him, she knew the tapestry of their lives might be unfinished but the threads were woven tightly now and would never be separated again.

 **XXX**

They lay, entangled and spent. Kate wrapped her fingers around one of Greg's hands and pressed it over her heart. She took a deep breath.

"I don't know where we're going next, but there's going to be five of us," she said softly.

"Five of what?" His voice was rough with the evening's whisky.

"Five of . . . us." She kissed his palm. "You, me, Joy, Meatball and . . ." She drew his hand down, pressed it low over her flat belly. "Whoever this is."

Even in the dim moonlight through the window, she saw the jolt of surprise on his face.

"God. Katie. Are you sure?" He looked stunned.

"Yeah. It took me awhile to figure it out with Joy. But this time, I know. And I'm not waiting to tell you."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard.

"You are the most amazing woman."

"Anything for you, Boyington."

 **XXX**

 **Late November 1945: Espritos Marcos, Former Allied Rear Command**

The war had officially been over for more than two months. The base on Espritos Marcos was being slowly dismantled as mopping up operations continued through the theatre. Colonel Thomas Lard was in a state. His office was in disarray. His staff was in chaos. His secretary, oddly, was the only one on the duty roster who seemed to have her head in the game.

She set a cup of coffee and a stack of newsprint on his desk like nothing unusual was going on.

"Good morning, sir. They're coming to load your office furniture at 1100 so you'll want to finish boxing things up soon but I thought you'd want to read this first." She pointed to the New York Times. A bold headline read "Top Marine Corps Ace Honored By President Truman."

Lard shook the paper open.

" _Yesterday at the White House, Lieutenant Colonel Gregory Boyington of the United States Marine Corps was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Harry Truman. He was recognized for an outstanding air combat career that began with the American Volunteer Group in China and ended as commanding officer of VMF 214, the famous Black Sheep Squadron in the Solomon Islands during World War II. Under his command, the 214 had more air victories than any Marine fighter squadron operating in the Pacific._

 _His creative and often unorthodox leadership style, combined with daring and courageous persistence, resulted in creating a fighter group that excelled against frequently overwhelming odds._

 _Lieutenant Colonel Boyington was accompanied to the White House ceremony by his new bride, noted Associated Press war correspondent Katherine "K.C." Cameron. The couple was wed earlier this month, after his release by the Empire of Japan following 20 months as a prisoner of war._

 _He and Miss Cameron met in 1943, when USMC Colonel Thomas Lard was instrumental in assigning her to provide coverage of VMF 214 on the squadron's home base on Vella La Cava. In a highly unusual field assignment, Miss Cameron was stationed on the base for six months, bringing stories and photographs of the boys fighting for America's freedom to the folks at home._

" _K.C. Cameron provided exceptional coverage of the Black Sheep at a time when the war effort needed good news reaching the home front," said Brigadier General Thomas Moore, who was also present at the Rose Garden ceremony._

Lard put down the paper and stared into space. _That_ sure as hell hadn't been what he intended when he'd sent K.C. Cameron out there.

He snorted. He remembered finally meeting Cameron on her last day in the South Pacific. He'd met her several times before then, but hadn't known who she was. Lord, that girl had been a piece of work. Drop-dead gorgeous with a no-holds-barred attitude and absolutely the last person he'd have ever thought would get involved with that rogue Marine.

Lard rummaged through the disaster area of his office until he found a bottle of Scotch and a glass. It wasn't the best stuff. There hadn't been any truly exceptional Scotch in this office since the 214 had been taken down. He poured a shot into a glass anyway and lifted it in a toast.

"Damnit, Boyington, you played me again," he said, sipping as he looked out the window at the palm trees rustling in the wind. "Here's to you and Kate Cameron. The two of you were made for each other."

 ** _THE END_**

 _Thank you for sticking with me through this. It's been a pleasure and a privilege to share this story with you. The re-write certainly did not produce anything resembling a lean narrative. If anything, it almost doubled in length but heck, anything worth doing is worth over-doing. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it._

 _I have an idea for a new story but need a break before launching it. If all goes well, it will be a guilty pleasure for this summer. These boys (and their girls) wear me out! - MW_


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